LIBRARY 

UNIVERSITY  OF 
CALIFOHWA 

SAN  DIEGO 


ISoartng  Camp  €tiftfon 


THE  WRITINGS  OP 
BRET  HARTE 

WITH  INTRODUCTIONS,  GLOSSARY,  AND 
INDEXES 

ILLUSTRATED 
VOLUME  III 


MR.   HARTE   IN 


ies  of  California  ana  tljr  ^Frontier 


AND   OTHER  TALES 


BY 


BRET   HARTE 
V_-X 


BOSTON  AND  NEW  YORK 
HOUGHTON   MIFFLIN  COMPANY 

(«JTf)e  ftilu-rsiDc  press  <£fltnbtiD0e 


COPYRIGHT,  1877   AND   1884,  BY   BRET  HARTE. 
COPYRIGHT,  1879,  BY   HOUGHTON,  OSGOOD   &   CO. 

COPYRIGHT,  lSS2,   1896,  1905,  AND  1907,  BY  HOUGHTON,  MIFFLIN   ft  CO. 
COPYRIGHT,    1910   AND    1912,   BY  ANNA   GRISWOLD   HARTE 

ALL   RIGHTS    RESERVED 


CONTENTS 

MM 
THE  STORY  OF  A  MINE. 

CHAP.  I.  WHO  SOUGHT  IT 1 

II.  WHO  FOUND  IT 5 

III.  WHO  CLAIMED  IT 11 

IV.  WHO  TOOK  IT 18 

V.  WHO  HAD  A  LIEN  ON  IT     .        .        .       .        .        .20 

VI.  How  A  GRANT  WAS  GOT  FOR  IT    ....  24 

VII.  WHO  PLEAD  FOR  IT 33 

VIII.  OF  COUNSEL  FOR  IT 37 

IX.  WHAT  THE  FAIR  HAD  TO  DO  ABOUT  IT    .        .        .45 

X.  WHO  LOBBIED  FOR  IT 59 

XL  How  IT  WAS  LOBBIED  FOR 73 

XII.  A  RACE  FOR  IT 81 

XIII.  How  IT  BECAME  FAMOUS 91 

XIV.  WHO  INTRIGUED  FOR  IT 96 

XV.  How  IT  BECAME  UNFINISHED  BUSINESS  .       .       .  105 

XVI.  AND  WHO  FORGOT  IT 109 

THE  TWINS  OF  TABLE  MOUNTAIN. 

PART  I.  A  CLOUD  ON  THE  MOUNTAIN 123 

II.  THE  CLOUDS  GATHER 133 

III.  STORM 152 

IV.  THE  CLOUDS  PASS 173 

JEFF  BRIGGS'S  LOVE  STORY 183 

THE  GREAT  DEADWOOD  MYSTERY         ......  265 

FLIP  :  A  CALIFORNIA  ROMANCE 295 

FOUND  AT  BLAZING  STAR .  348 

AT  THK  MISSION  OF  SAN  CAKMEL 888 


LIST   OF  ILLUSTRATIONS 

PAGE 

BRET  HARTE,  FROM  A  PHOTOGRAPH  BY  DOWNY 

IN  1886 Frontispiece. 

VIGNETTE    ON    ENGRAVED    TITLE-PAGE    (see 

page  392) Guy  Rose 

WHEN  CAN  I  LEAVE  THIS  PLACE    ....    Mary  Hallock  Foole  .    54 
HE  SANK  INTO  THE  CHAIR  .......    J9.  West  Clinedinst     .  170 

JEFF  LIFTED  HER  IN  HIS  ARMS Mary  Hallock  Foole  .  220 

DISMAL  FAILURE Malcolm  Eraser     .    .  278 

SHE  PICKED  UP  A  BROKEN  HAZEL  BRANCH  .     W.  L,  Taylor    .    .    .304 
VA  USTED  CON  Dios E.  Boyd  Smith  .    .    .  428 


THE  STORY  OF  A  MINE  AND  OTHER  TALES 


THE  STOEY  OF  A  MINE 


WHO    SOUGHT    IT 

IT  was  a  steep  trail  leading  over  the  Monterey  Coast 
Range.  Concho  was  very  tired,  Concho  was  very  dusty, 
Concho  was  very  much  disgusted.  To  Concho's  mind,  there 
was  but  one  relief  for  these  insurmountable  difficulties,  and 
that  lay  in  a  leathern  bottle  slung  over  the  mochillas  of  his 
saddle.  Concho  raised  the  bottle  to  his  lips,  took  a  long 
draught,  made  a  wry  face,  and  ejaculated,  —  "  Carajo  !  " 
It  appeared  that  the  bottle  did  not  contain  aguardiente, 
but  had  lately  been  filled  in  a  tavern  near  Tres  Pinos  by 
an  Irishman  who  sold  bad  American  whiskey  under  that 
pleasing  Castilian  title.  Nevertheless  Concho  had  already 
nearly  emptied  the  bottle,  and  it  fell  back  against  the  sad- 
dle as  yellow  and  flaccid  as  his  own  cheeks.  Thus  rein- 
forced, Concho  turned  to  look  at  the  valley  behind  him, 
from  which  he  had  climbed  since  noon.  It  was  a  sterile 
waste  bordered  here  and  there  by  arable  fringes  and  valdas 
of  meadow  land,  but  in  the  main  dusty,  dry,  and  forbidding. 
His  eye  rested  for  a  moment  on  a  low  white  cloud-line  on 
the  eastern  horizon,  but  so  mocking  and  unsubstantial  that 
it  seemed  to  come  and  go  as  he  gazed.  Concho  struck  his 
forehead  and  winked  his  hot  eyelids.  Was  it  the  Sierras 
or  the  cursed  American  whiskey  ?  Again  he  recommenced 


2  THE   STORY   OF   A   MINE 

the  ascent.  At  times  the  half-worn,  half-visihle  trail  be- 
came utterly  lost  in  the  bare  black  outcrop  of  the  ridge, 
but  his  sagacious  mule  soon  found  it  again,  until,  stepping 
upon  a  loose  boulder,  she  slipped  and  fell.  In  vain  Concho 
tried  to  lift  her  from  out  the  ruin  of  camp  kettles,  pros- 
pecting pans  and  picks ;  she  remained  quietly  recumbent, 
occasionally  raising  her  head  as  if  to  contemplatively  glance 
over  the  arid  plain  below.  Then  he  had  recourse  to  use- 
less blows.  Then  he  essayed  profanity  of  a  secular  kind, 
such  as  "  Assassin,"  "  Thief/'  "  Beast  with  a  pig's  head," 
"Food  for  the  bull's  horns,"  but  with  no  effect.  Then 
he  had  recourse  to  the  curse  ecclesiastic :  — 

"Ah,  Judas  Iscariot!  is  it  thus,  renegade  and  traitor, 
thou  leavest  me,  thy  master,  a  league  from  camp,  and  sup- 
per waiting  ?  Stealer  of  the  Sacrament,  get  up  !  " 

Still  no  effect.  Concho  began  to  feel  uneasy  ;  never  be- 
fore had  a  mule  of  pious  lineage  failed  to  respond  to  this 
kind  of  exhortation.  He  made  one  more  desperate  attempt : 

"  Ah,  defiler  of  the  altar !  lie  not  there !  Look  !  "  he 
threw  his  hand  into  the  air,  extending  the  fingers  suddenly. 
"  Behold,  fiend  !  I  exorcise  thee  !  Ha  !  tremblest !  Look 
but  a  little  now  —  see  !  Apostate  !  I  —  I  —  excommuni- 
cate thee  —  Mula !" 

"  What  are  you  kicking  up  such  a  devil  of  a  row  down 
there  for  ?  "  said  a  gruff  voice  from  the  rocks  above.  Con- 
cho shuddered.  Could  it  be  that  the  devil  was  really  go- 
ing to  fly  away  with  his  mule  ?  He  dared  not  look  up. 

"  Come  now,"  continued  the  voice,  "  you  just  let  up  on 
that  mule,  you  d — d  old  Greaser  ?  Don't  you  see  she  's 
slipped  her  shoulder  ?  " 

Alarmed  as  Concho  was  at  the  information,  he  could  not 
help  feeling  to  a  certain  extent  relieved.  She  was  lamed, 
but  had  not  lost  her  standing  as  a  good  Catholic. 

He  ventured  to  lift  his  eyes.  A  stranger  —  an  Ameri- 
zano  from  his  dress  and  accent  —  was  descending  the  rocks 


WHO   SOUGHT   IT  3 

toward  him.  He  was  a  slight-built  man  with  a  dark, 
smooth  face,  that  would  have  been  quite  commonplace  and 
inexpressive  but  for  his  left  eye,  in  which  all  that  was 
villainous  in  him  apparently  centred.  Shut  that  eye,  and 
you  had  the  features  and  expression  of  an  ordinary  man ; 
cover  up  those  features,  and  the  eye  shone  out  like  Eblis' 
own.  Nature  had  apparently  observed  this,  too,  and  had, 
by  a  paralysis  of  the  nerve,  ironically  dropped  the  corner  of 
the  upper  lid  over  it  like  a  curtain,  laughed  at  her  hancli. 
work,  and  turned  him  loose  to  prey  upon  a  credulous  world. 

"  What  are  you  doing  here  ?  "  said  the  stranger  after  he 
had  assisted  Concho  in  bringing  the  mule  to  her  feet  and 
a  helpless  halt. 

"  Prospecting,  Seiior." 

The  stranger  turned  his  respectable  right  eye  toward 
Concho,  while  his  left  looked  unutterable  scorn  and  wicked- 
ness over  the  landscape. 

"  Prospecting  ?  what  for  ?  " 

"  Gold  and  silver,  Seiior ;  yet  for  silver  most." 

"  Alone  ?  " 

"  Of  us  there  are  four." 

The  stranger  looked  around. 

"  In  camp,  —  a  league  beyond,"  explained  the  Mexican. 

"  Found  anything  ?  " 

"  Of  this  —  much."  Concho  took  from  his  saddle-bags 
a  lump  of  greyish  iron-ore,  studded  here  and  there  with 
star-points  of  pyrites.  The  stranger  said  nothing,  but  his 
eye  looked  a  diabolical  suggestion. 

"  You  are  lucky,  friend  Greaser." 

•'Eh?" 

"  It  is  silver." 

"  How  know  you  this  ?  " 

"  It  is  my  business.     I  'm  a  metallurgist." 

"  And  you  can  say  what  shall  be  silver  and  what  is  not  ?  " 

•'  Yes  —  see  here  !  "     The  stranger  took  from  his  saddle- 


4  THE   STORY   OF  A  MINE 

bags  a  little  leather  case  containing  some  half  dozen  viala 
One,  enwrapped  in  dark-blue  paper,  he  held  up  to  Concho. 
"  This  contains  a  preparation  of  silver." 

Concho's  eyes  sparkled,  but  he  looked  doubtingly  at  the 
stranger. 

"  Get  me  some  water  in  your  pan." 

Concho  emptied  his  water  bottle  in  his  prospecting  pan 
and  handed  it  to  the  stranger.  He  dipped  a  dried  blade 
of  grass  in  the  bottle,  and  then  let  a  drop  fall  from  its  tip 
in  the  water.  The  water  remained  unchanged. 

"  Now  throw  a  little  salt  in  the  water,"  said  the  stranger. 

Concho  did  so.  Instantly  a  white  film  appeared  on  the 
surface,  and  presently  the  whole  mass  assumed  a  milky  hue. 

Concho  crossed  himself  hastily :  "  Mother  of  God,  it  is 
magic ! " 

"  It  is  chloride  of  silver,  you  darned  fool." 

Not  content  with  this  cheap  experiment,  the  stranger 
then  took  Concho's  breath  away  by  reddening  some  litmus 
paper  with  the  nitrate,  and  then  completely  knocked  over 
the  simple  Mexican  by  restoring  its  color  by  dipping  it  in 
the  salt  water. 

"  You  shall  try  me  this,"  said  Concho,  offering  his  iron 
ore  to  the  stranger ;  "  you  shall  use  the  silver  and  the 
salt." 

"  Not  so  fast,  my  friend,"  answered  the  stranger.  "  In 
the  first  place  this  ore  must  be  melted,  and  then  a  chip 
taken  and  put  in  shape  like  this ;  and  that  is  worth  some- 
thing, my  Greaser  cherub.  No,  sir,  a  man  don't  spend  all 
his  youth  at  Freiburg  and  Heidelberg  to  throw  away  his 
science  gratuitously  on  the  first  Greaser  he  meets." 

"  It  will  cost  —  eh  ?  —  how  much  ?  "  said  the  Mexican 
eagerly. 

"  Well,  I  should  say  it  would  take  about  a  hundred 
dollars  and  expenses  to  —  to  —  find  silver  in  that  ore.  But 
once  you  've  got  it  there,  you're  all  right  for  tons  of  it." 


WHO   FOUND   IT  5 

"  You  shall  have  it,"  said  the  now  excited  Mexican. 
11  You  shall  have  it  of  us,  —  the  four  !  You  shall  come  to 
our  camp  and  shall  melt  it  —  and  show  the  silver  and  — 
enough  !  Come,"  and  in  his  feverishness  he  clutched  the 
hand  of  his  companion  as  if  to  lead  him  forth  at  once. 

"  What  are  you  going  to  do  with  your  mule  ?  "  said  the 
stranger. 

"True,  Holy  Mother  !  what,  indeed  ?" 

"  Look  yer,"  said  the  stranger,  with  a  grim  smile,  "  she 
won't  stray  far,  I  '11  be  bound.  I  've  an  extra  pack-mule 
above  here ;  you  can  ride  on  her,  and  lead  me  into  camp, 
and  to-morrow  come  back  for  your  beast." 

Poor  honest  Concho's  heart  sickened  at  the  prospect  of 
leaving  behind  the  tired  servant  he  had  objurgated  so 
strongly  a  moment  before,  but  the  love  of  gold  was  upper- 
most. "I  will  come  back  to  thee,  little  one,  to-morrow,  a 
rich  man.  Meanwhile  wait  thou  here,  patient  one.  Adios, 
thou  smallest  of  mules,  Adios  !  " 

And  seizing  the  stranger's  hand  he  clambered  up  the 
rocky  ledge  until  they  reached  the  summit.  Then  the 
stranger  turned  and  gave  one  sweep  of  his  malevolent  eye 
over  the  valley. 

Wherefore,  in  after  years,  when  their  story  was  related, 
with  the  devotion  of  true  Catholic  pioneers,  they  named 
the  mountain  "  La  Cafiada  de  la  Visitacion  del  Diablo," 
"  The  Gulch  of  the  Visitation  of  the  Devil,"  the  same  being 
now  the  boundary  lines  of  one  of  the  famous  Mexican  land 
grants. 

n 

•WHO    FOUND    IT 

CONCHO  was  so  impatient  to  reach  the  camp  and  delivei 
his  good  news  to  his  companions  that  more  than  once  the 
stranger  was  obliged  to  command  him  to  slacken  his  pace 


C  THE   STORY   OF   A   MINE 

"  Is  it  not  enough,  you  infernal  Greaser,  that  you  lame  youi 
own  mule,  but  you  must  try  your  hand  on  mine  ?  Or  am 
I  to  put  Jinny,  down  among  the  expenses  ?  "  he  added  with 
a  grin  and  a  slight  lifting  of  his  baleful  eyelid. 

When-  they  had  ridden  a  mile  along  the  ridge  they  began 
to  descend  again  toward  the  valley.  Vegetation  now  spar- 
ingly bordered  the  trail ;  clumps  of  chimisal,  an  occasional 
manzanita  bush,  and  one  or  two  dwarfed  "  buckeyes " 
rooted  their  way  between  the  interstices  of  the  black-gray 
rock.  Now  and  then,  in  crossing  gome  dry  gully  worn  by 
the  overflow  of  winter  torrents  from  above,  the  grayish  rock 
gloom  was  relieved  by  dull  red  and  brown  masses  of  color, 
and  almost  every  overhanging  rock  bore  the  mark  of  a 
miner's  pick.  Presently,  as  they  rounded  the  curving  flank 
of  the  mountain,  from  a  rocky  bench  below  them,  a  thin 
ghost-like  stream  of  smoke  seemed  to  be  steadily  drawn  by 
invisible  hands  into  the  invisible  ether.  "  It  is  the  camp," 
said  Concho  gleefully  :  "  I  will  myself  forward  to  prepare 
them  for  the  stranger  ;  "  and  before  his  companion  could 
detain  him  he  had  disappeared  at  a  sharp  canter  around  the 
curve  of  the  trail. 

Left  to  himself,  the  stranger  took  a  more  leisurely  pace, 
which  left  him  ample  time  for  reflection.  Scamp  as  he 
was,  there  was  something  in  the  simple  credulity  of  poor 
Uoncho  that  made  him  uneasy.  Not  that  his  moral  con- 
sciousness  was  touched,  but  he  feared  that  Concho's  com- 
panions might,  knowing  Concho's  simplicity,  instantly 
suspect  him  of  trading  upon  it.  He  rode  on  in  a  deep  .study. 
Was  he  reviewing  his  past  life  ?  A  vagabond  by  birth  and 
education,  a  swindler  by  profession,  .an  outcast  by  reputa- 
tion, without  absolutely  turning  his  back  upon  respectability, 
he  had  trembled  on  the  perilous  edge  of  criminality  ever 
since  his  boyhood.  He  did  not  scruple  to  cheat  these 
Mexicans,  they  were  a  degraded  race;  and  for  a  moment  he 
felt  almost  an  accredited  agent  of  progress  and  civilization 


WHO   FOUND   IT  7 

We  never  really  understand  the  meaning  of  enlightenment 
until  we  hegin  to  use  it  aggressively. 

A  few  paces  farther  on,  four  figures  appeared  in  the  now 
gathering  darkness  of  the  trail.  The  stranger  quickly 
recognized  the  beaming  smile  of  Concho,  foremost  of  the 
party.  A  quick  glance  at  the  faces  of  the  others  satisfied 
him  that,  while  they  lacked  Concho's  good  humor,  they 
certainly  did  not  surpass  him  in  intellect.  "  Pedro "  was 
a  stout  vaquero  ;  "  Manuel "  was  a  slim  half-breed  and  ex- 
convert  of  the  Mission  of  San  Carmel ;  and  "  Miguel "  a 
recent  butcher  of  Monterey.  Under  the  benign  influences 
of  Concho,  that  suspicion  with  which  the  ignorant  regard 
strangers  died  away,  and  the  whole  party  escorted  the 
stranger  —  who  had  given  his  name  as  Mr.  Joseph  Wiles — 
to  their  camp-fire.  So  anxious  were  they  to  begin  their 
experiments  that  even  the  instincts  of  hospitality  were  for- 
gotten, and  it  was  not  until  Mr.  Wiles  —  now  known  as 
"  Don  Jose "  —  sharply  reminded  them  that  he  wanted 
some  "  grub,"  that  they  came  to  their  senses.  When  the 
frugal  meal  of  tortillas,  frijoles,  salt  pork,  and  chocolate 
was  over,  an  oven  was  built  of  the  dark-red  rock  brought 
from  the  ledge  before  them,  and  an  earthenware  jar,  glazed 
by  some  peculiar  local  process,  tightly  fitted  over  it,  and 
packed  with  .clay  and  sods.  A  fire  was  speedily  built  of 
pine  boughs  continually  brought  from  a  wooded  ravine 
below,  and  in  a  few  moments  the  furnace  was  in  full  blast. 
Mr.  Wiles  did  not  participate  in  these  active  preparations, 
except  to  give  occasional  directions  between  his  teeth,  which 
were  contemplatively  fixed  over  a  clay  pipe  as  he  lay  com- 
fortably on  his  back  on  the  ground.  Whatever  enjoyment 
the  rascal  may  have  had  in  their  useless  labors  he  did  not 
show  it,  but  it  was  observed  that  his  left  eye  often  followed 
the  broad  figure  of  the  ex-vaquero  Pedro,  and  often  dwelt 
on  that  worthy's  beetling  brows  and  half-savage  face.  Meet- 
ing that  baleful  glance  once,  Pedro  growled  out  an  oath,  but 


8  THE   STORY   OF  A   MINE 

could  not  resist  a  hideous  fascination  that  caused  him  again 
and  again  to  seek  it. 

The  scene  was  weird  enough  without  Wiles'  eye  to  add 
to  its  wild  picturesqueness.  The  mountain  towered  above 
—  a  heavy  Rembrandtish  mass  of  black  shadow  —  sharply 
cut  here  and  there  against  a  sky  so  inconceivably  remote 
that  the  world-sick  soul  must  have  despaired  of  ever  reach- 
ing so  far,  or  of  climbing  its  steel-blue  walls.  The  stars 
were  large,  keen,  and  brilliant,  but  cold  and  steadfast. 
They  did  not  dance  nor  twinkle  in  their  adamantine  setting. 
The  furnace  fire  painted  the  faces  of  the  men  an  Indian 
red,  glanced  on  brightly-colored  blanket  and  serape,  but 
was  eventually  caught  and  absorbed  in  the  waiting  shadows 
of  the  black  mountain,  scarcely  twenty  feet  from  the  furnace 
door.  The  low,  half-sung,  half-whispered  foreign  speech  of 
the  group,  the  roaring  of  the  furnace,  and  the  quick,  sharp 
yelp  of  a  coyote  on  the  plain  below,  were  the  only  sounds 
that  broke  the  awful  silence  of  the  hills. 

It  was  almost  dawn  when  it  was  announced  that  the  ore 
had  fused.  And  it  was  high  time,  for  the  pot  was  slowly 
sinking  into  the  fast-crumbling  oven.  Concho  uttered  a 
jubilant  "  God  and  Liberty,"  but  Don  Jose  Wiles  bade  him 
be  silent  and  bring  stakes  to  support  the  pot.  Then  Don 
Jose*  bent  over  the  seething  mass.  It  was  for  a  moment 
only.  But  in  that  moment  this  accomplished  metallurgist, 
Mr.  Joseph  Wiles,  had  quietly  dropped  a  silver  half  dollar 
into  the  pot !  Then  he  charged  them  to  keep  up  the  fires 
and  went  to  sleep  —  all  but  one  eye. 

Dawn  came  with  dull  beacon  fires  on  the  near  hill-tops, 
and,  far  in  the  east,  roses  over  the  Sierran  snow.  Birds 
twittered  in  the  alder  fringes  a  mile  below,  and  the  creak- 
ing of  wagon  wheels  —  the  wagon  itself  a  mere  fleck  of 
dust  in  the  distant  road  —  was  heard  distinctly.  Then  the 
melting-pot  was  solemnly  broken  by  Don  Jose,  and  the 
glowing  incandescent  mass  turned  into  the  road  to  cool. 


WHO   FOUND   IT  9 

And  then  the  metallurgist  chipped  a  small  fragment  from 
the  mass  and  pounded  it,  and  chipped  another  smaller  piece 
and  pounded  that,  and  then  subjected  it  to  acid,  and  then 
treated  it  to  a  salt  bath  which  became  at  once  milky,  and 
at  last  produced  a  white  something  —  mirabile  dictu  !  — 
two  cents'  worth  of  silver ! 

Concho  shouted  with  joy,  the  rest  gazed  at  each  other 
doubtiugly  and  distrustfully  ;  companions  in  poverty,  they 
began  to  diverge  and  suspect  each  other  in  prosperity. 
Wiles'  left  eye  glanced  ironically  from  the  one  to  the  other, 

"  Here  is  the  hundred  dollars,  Don  Jose,"  said  Pedro, 
handing  the  gold  to  Wiles  with  a  decidedly  brusque  intima- 
tion that  the  services  and  the  presence  of  a  stranger  were 
no  longer  required. 

Wiles  took  the  money  with  a  gracious  smile  and  a  wink 
that  sent  Pedro's  heart  into  his  boots,  and  was  turning  away, 
when  a  cry  from  Manuel  stopped  him.  "  The  pot  —  the 
pot  —  it  has  leaked  !  look  !  behold  !  see  !  " 

He  had  been  cleaning  away  the  crumbled  fragments  of 
the  furnace  to  get  ready  for  breakfast,  and  had  disclosed  a 
shining  pool  of  quicksilver ! 

Wiles  started,  cast  a  rapid  glance  around  the  group,  saw 
in  a  flash  that  the  metal  was  unknown  to  them,  and  then 
said  quietly; — 

"  It  is  not  silver." 

"  Pardon,  Sefior ;  it  is,  and  still  molten." 

Wiles  stooped  and  ran  his  fingers  through  the  shining 
metal. 

"  Mother  of  God  !  what  is  it,  then  ?  —  magic  ?  " 

"  No,  only  base  metal."  But  then  Concho,  emboldened 
by  Wiles'  experiment,  attempted  to  seize  a  handful  of  the 
glittering  mass,  that  instantly  broke  through  his  fingers  in  a 
thousand  tiny  spherules,  and  even  sent  a  few  globules  up 
his  shirt  sleeves,  until  he  danced  around  in  mingled  fear 
ai:d  childish  pleasure. 


10  THE   STORY    OF    A    MINE 

"  And  it  is  not  worth  the  taking  ?  "  queried  Pedro  of 
Wiles. 

Wiles'  right  eye  and  bland  face  were  turned  toward  the 
speaker,  but  his  malevolent  left  was  glancing  at  the  dull 
red-brown  rock  on  the  hillside. 

"  No  !  "  And,  turning  abruptly  away,  he  proceeded  to 
saddle  his  mule. 

Manuel,  Miguel,  and  Pedro,  left  to  themselves,  began 
talking  earnestly  together ;  while  Concho,  now  mindful  of 
his  crippled  mule,  made  his  way  back  to  the  trail  where  he 
had  left  her.  But  she  was  no  longer  there.  Constant  to 
her  master  through  beatings  and  bullyings,  she  could  not 
stand  incivility  and  inattention.  There  are  certain  qualities 
of  the  sex  that  l>elong  to  all  animated  nature. 

Inconsolable,  footsore,  and  remorseful,  Concho  returned 
to  the  camp  and  furnace,  three  miles, .across  the  rocky  ridge. 
But  what  was  his  astonishment  on  arriving  to  find  the  place 
deserted  of  man,  mule,  and  camp  equipage !  Concho  called 
aloud.  Only  the  echoing  rocks  grimly  answered  him.  Was 
it  a  trick  ?  Concho  tried  to  laugh.  Ah  —  yes  —  a  good 
one  —  a  joke  —  no  —  no  —  they  had  deserted  him  !  And 
then  poor  Concho  bowed  his  head  to  the  ground,  and,  falling 
on  his  face,  cried  as  if  his  honest  heart  would  break. 

The  tempest  passed  in  a  moment ;  it  was  not  Concho's 
nature  to  suffer  long,  nor  brood  over  an  injury.  As  he 
raised  his  head  again,  his  eye  caught  the  shimmer  of  the 
quicksilver,  —  that  pool  of  merry  antic  metal  that  had  so 
delighted  him  an  hour  before.  In  a  few  moments  Concho 
was  again  disporting  with  it;  chasing  it  here  and  there, 
rolling  it  in  his  palms,  and  laughing  with  boylike  glee  at  its 
elusive  freaks  and  fancies.  "  Ah,  sprightly  one  —  skipjack 
—  there  thou  goest  —  come  here.  This  way  —  now  I  have 
thee,  little  one  —  come,  muchacha  —  come  and  kiss  me," 
until  he  had  quite  forgotten  the  defection  of  his  companions. 
And  even  when  he  shouldered  his  sorry  pack  he  was  fain  to 


WHO   CLAIMED    IT  11 

carry  his  playmate  away  with  him  in  his  empty  leathern 
flask. 

And  yet  I  fancy  the  sun  looked  kindly  on  him  as  he 
strode  cheerily  down  the  black  mountain  side,  and  his  step 
was  none  the  less  free  nor  light  that  he  carried  with  him 
neither  the  silver  nor  the  crime  of  his  late  comrades. 


Ill 

WHO    CLAIMED    IT 

The  fog  had  already  closed  in  on  Monterey,  and  was  now 
rolling  a  white,  billowy  sea  above,  that  soon  shut  out  the 
blue  breakers  below.  Once  or  twice  in  descending  the 
mountain  Concho  had  overhung  the  cliff  and  looked  down 
upon  the  curving  horseshoe  of  a  bay  below  him,  distant 
yet  many  miles.  Earlier  in  the  afternoon  he  had  seen  the 
gilt  cross  on  the  whitefaced  Mission  flare  in  the  sunlight, 
but  now  all  was  gone.  By  the  time  he  reached  the  high- 
way of  the  town  it  was  quite  dark,  and  he  plunged  into  the 
first  fonda  at  the  wayside,  and  endeavored  to  forget  his  woes 
and  his  weariness  in  aguardiente.  But  Concho's  head  ached, 
and  his  back  ached,  and  he  was  so  generally  distressed  that 
he  bethought  him  of  a  medico  —  an  American  doctor  — 
lately  come  into  the  town,  who  had  once  treated  Concho 
and  his  mule  with  apparently  the  same  medicine  and  after 
the  same  heroic  fashion.  Concho  reasoned,  not  illogically, 
that,  if  he  were  to  be  physicked  at  all,  he  ought  to  get  the 
worth  of  his  money.  The  grotesque  extravagance  of  life,  of 
fruit  and  vegetable,  in  California  was  inconsistent  with 
infinitesimal  doses.  In  Concho's  previous  illness  the  Doctor 
had  given  him  a  dozen  4-gr.  quinine  powders.  The  follow- 
ing day  the  grateful  Mexican  walked  into  the  Doctor's 
office  —  cured.  The  Doctor  was  gratified  until,  on  exami- 
nation, it  appeared  that  to  save  trouble,  and  because  his 


12  THE   STORY   OF   A   MINE 

memory  was  poor,  Concho  had  taken  all  the  powders  in  one 
dose.  The  Doctor  shrugged  his  shoulders  and  —  altered 
his  practice. 

"  Well,"  said  Dr.  Guild,  as  Concho  sank  down  exhaust- 
edly  in  one  of  the  Doctor's  two  chairs,  "  what  now  ?  Have 
you  been  sleeping  again  in  the  tule  marshes,  or  are  you  up- 
set with  commissary  whiskey  ?  Come,  have  it  out." 

But  Concho  declared  that  the  devil  was  in  his  stomach, 
that  Judas  Iscariot  had  possessed  himself  of  his  spine,  that 
imps  were  in  his  forehead,  and  that  his  feet  had  been 
scourged  by  Pontius  Pilate. 

"  That  means  '  blue  mass,' "  said  the  Doctor,  and  gave 
it  to  him,  a  bolus  as  large  as  a  musket-ball  and  as  heavy. 

Concho  took  it  on  the  spot  and  turned  to  go. 

"  I  have  no  money,  Seiior  Medico." 

"  Never  mind.  It 's  only  a  dollar,  the  price  of  the 
medicine." 

Concho  looked  guilty  at  having  gulped  down  so  much 
cash.  Then  he  said  timidly  :  — 

"I  have  no  money,  but  I  have  got  here  that  which  is 
fine  and  jolly.  It  is  yours,"  and  he  handed  over  the 
contents  of  the  precious  tin  can  he  had  brought  with  him. 

The  Doctor  took  it,  looked  at  the  shivering  volatile 
mass,  and  said,  "  Why,  this  is  quicksilver  !  " 

Concho  laughed.  "  Yes,  very  quick  silver,  —  so  !  "  and 
he  snapped  his  fingers  to  show  its  sprightliness. 

The  Doctor's  face  grew  earnest.  "  Where  did  you  get 
this,  Concho  ?  "  he  finally  asked. 

"  It  ran  from  the  pot  in  the  mountains  beyond." 

The  Doctor  looked  incredulous.  Then  Concho  related 
the  whole  story. 

"  Could  you  find  that  spot  again  ?  " 

"  Madre  de  Dios,  yes.  I  have  a  mule  there ;  may  the 
devil  fly  away  with  her  !  " 

"  And  you  say  your  comrades  saw  this  ?  " 


WHO   CLAIMED   IT  13 

«  Why  not  ?  " 

"  And  you  say  they  afterwards  left  you  —  deserted  you  ?  " 

"  They  did,  ingrates  !  " 

The  Doctor  arose  and  shut  his  office  door.  "  Hark  ye, 
Concho,"  he  said,  "  that  bit  of  medicine  I  gave  you  just 
now  was  worth  a  dollar.  It  was  worth  a  dollar  because 
the  material  of  which  it  was  composed  was  made  from  the 
stuff  you  have  in  that  can,  —  quicksilver,  or  mercury.  It 
is  one  of  the  most  valuable  of  metals,  especially  in  a  gold- 
mining  country.  My  good  fellow,  if  you  know  where  to 
find  enough  of  it,  your  fortune  is  made." 

Concho  rose  to  his  feet. 

"  Tell  me,  was  the  rock  you  built  your  furnace  of,  red  ?  " 

«  Si,  Senor." 

"  And  brown  ?  " 

"Si,  Senor." 

"  And  crumbled  under  the  heat  ?" 

"  As  to  nothing." 

"  And  did  you  see  much  of  this  red  rock  ?  " 

"  The  mountain  mother  is  in  travail  with  it." 

"  Are  you  sure  that  your  comrades  have  not  taken  pos< 
session  of  the  mountain  mother  ?  " 

"  As  how  ?  " 

"  By  claiming  its  discovery  under  the  mining  laws,  or  by 
preemption  ?  " 

"  They  shall  not." 

"  But  how  will  you,  single-handed,  fight  the  four  ?  for  I 
doubt  not  your  scientific  friend  has  a  hand  in  it." 

"  I  will  fight," 

"  Yes,  my  Concho ;  but  suppose  I  take  the  fight  off  your 
hands  ?  Now,  here 's  a  proposition  :  I  will  get  half  a  dozen 
Americanos  to  go  in  with  you.  You  will  have  to  get 
money  to  work  the  mine,  —  you  will  need  funds.  You  shall 
share  half  with  them.  They  will  take  the  risk,  raise  the 
money,  and  protect  you." 


14  THE   STORY   OF  A   MINE 

"  I  see,"  said  Concho,  nodding  his  head  and  winking  his 
eyes  rapidly.  "  Bueno  !  " 

"  I  will  return  in  ten  minutes,"  said  the  Doctor,  taking 
his  hat.  He  was  as  good  as  his  word.  In  ten  minutes 
he  returned  with  six  original  Ipcaters,  a  board  of  direc- 
tors, a  president,  secretary,  and  a  deed  of  incorporation  of 
the  "  Blue  Mass  Quicksilver  Mining  Co."  This  latter  was 
a  delicate  compliment  to  the  Doctor,  who  was  popular. 
The  president  added  to  these  necessary  articles  a  revolver. 

"  Take  it,"  he  said,  handing  over  the  weapon  to  Concho, 
"  take  it ;  my  horse  is  outside ;  take  that,  ride  like  h — 1 
and  hang  on  until  we  come !  " 

In  another  moment  Concho  was  in  the  saddle.  Then 
the  mining  director  lapsed  into  the  physician. 

"  I  hardly  know,"  said  Dr.  Guild  doubtfully,  "  if  in  your 
present  condition  you  ought  to  travel.  You  have  just 
taken  a  powerful  medicine,"  and  the  Doctor  looked  hypo- 
critically concerned. 

"  Ah  — the  devil !  "  laughed  Concho  ;  "  what  is  the  quick- 
silver that  is  in  to  that  which  is  out  ?  Hoopa  la  !  Mula  !  " 
And  with  a  clatter  of  hoofs  and  jingle  of  spurs,  he  was 
presently  lost  in  the  darkness. 

"You  were  none  too  soon,  gentlemen,"  said  the  American 
alcalde,  as  he  drew  up  before  the  Doctor's  door ;  "  another 
company  has  just  been  incorporated  for  the  same  location, 
I  reckon." 

"  Who  are  they  ?  " 

"  Three  Mexicans  :  Pedro,  Manuel,  and  Miguel,  headed 
by  that  d — d  cockeyed  Sydney  Duck,  Wiles." 

"  Are  they  here  ?  " 

"  Manuel  and  Miguel  only.  The  others  are  over  at  Tres 
Finos  lally-gagging  Roscommon  and  trying  to  rope  him  in 
to  pay  off  their  whiskey  bills  at  his  grocery." 

"  If  that 's  so  we  need  n't  start  before  sunrise,  for  they  're 
sure  to  get  roaring  drunk." 


WHO   CLAIMED   IT  15 

And  this  legitimate  successor  of  the  grave  Mexican  al- 
caldes, having  thus  delivered  his  impartial  opinion,  rode  away. 

Meanwhile  Concho  the  redoubtable,  Concho  the  fortu- 
nate, spared  neither  riata  nor  spur.  The  way  was  dark,  the 
trail  obscure  and  at  times  even  dangerous,  and  Concho, 
familiar  as  he  was  with  these  mountain  fastnesses,  often 
regretted  his  surefooted  "  Francisquita."  "  Care  not,  O 
Concho,"  he  would  say  to  himself,  "  'tis  but  a  little  while, 
only  a  little  while,  and  thou  shalt  have  another  Francis- 
quita to  bless  thee.  Eh,  skipjack,  there  was  fine  music  to 
thy  dancing.  A  dollar  for  an  ounce  —  't  is  as  good  as  silver 
and  merrier."  Yet  for  all  his  good  spirits  he  kept  a  sharp 
lookout  at  certain  bends  of  the  mountain  trail ;  not  for 
assassins  or  brigands,  for  Concho  was  physically  courageous, 
but  for  the  Evil  One,  who,  in  various  forms,  was  said  to 
lurk  in  the  Santa  Cruz  Range,  to  the  great  discomfort  of 
all  true  Catholics.  He  recalled  the  incident  of  Ignacio, 
a  muleteer  of  the  Franciscan  Friars,  who,  stopping  at  the 
"  Angelus"  to  repeat  the  "  Credo,"  saw  Luzbel  plainly  in  the 
likeness  of  a  monstrous  grizzly  bear,  mocking  him  by  sitting 
on  his  haanches  and  lifting  his  paws,  clasped  together,  as 
if  in  prayer.  Nevertheless,  with  one  hand  grasping  his 
reins  and  his  rosary,  and  the  other  clutching  his  whiskey 
flask  and  revolver,  he  fared  on  so  excellently  that  he 
reached  the  summit  as  the  earlier  streaks  of  dawn  were 
outlining  the  far-off  Sierran  peaks.  Tethering  his  horse  on 
a  strip  of  table-land,  he  descended  cautiously  afoot  until  he 
reached  the  bench,  the  wall  of  red  rock,  and  the  crumbled 
and  dismantled  furnace.  It  was  as  he  had  left  it  that 
morning ;  there  was  no  trace  of  recent  human  visitation. 
Revolver  in  hand,  Concho  examined  every  cave,  gully,  and 
recess,  peered  behind  trees,  penetrated  copses  of  buckeye 
and  manzanita,  and  listened.  There  was  no  sound  but 
the  faint  soughing  of  the  wind  over  the  pines  below  him. 
For  a  while  he  paced  backward  and  forward  with  a  vague 


16  THE    STORY   OF   A   MINE 

sense  of  being  a  sentinel,  but  his  mercurial  nature  soon 
rebelled  against  this  monotony,  and  soon  the  fatigues  of 
the  day  began  to  tell  upon  him.  Recourse  to  his  whiskey 
flask  only  made  him  the  drowsier,  until  at  last  he  was  fain 
to  lie  down  and  roll  himself  up  tightly  in  his  blanket.  The 
next  moment  he  was  sound  asleep. 

His  horse  neighed  twice  from  the  summit,  but  Conchc 
heard  him  not.  Then  the  brush  crackled  on  the  ledge 
above  him,  a  small  fragment  of  rock  rolled  near  his  feet ; 
but  he  stirred  not.  And  then  two  black  figures  were  out- 
lined on  the  crags  beyond. 

"  St-t-t !  "  whispered  a  voice.  "  There  is  one  lying  be- 
side the  furnace."  The  speech  was  Spanish,  but  the  voice 
was  Wiles'. 

The  other  figure  crept  cautiously  to  the  edge  of  the  crag 
and  looked  over.  "  It  is  Concho,  the  imbecile,"  said 
Pedro  contemptuously. 

"  But  if  he  should  not  be  alone,  or  if  he  should 
waken  ?  " 

"I  will  watch  and  wait.  Go  you  and  affix  the  notifica- 
tion." 

Wiles  disappeared.  Pedro  began  to  creep  down  the  face 
of  the  rocky  ledge,  supporting  himself  by  chimisal  and 
brushwood. 

The  next  moment  Pedro  stood  beside  the  unconscious 
man.  Then  he  looked  cautiously  around.  The  figure  of 
his  companion  was  lost  in  the  shadow  of  the  rocks  above  ; 
only  a  slight  crackle  of  brush  betrayed  his  whereabouts. 
Suddenly  Pedro  flung  his  serape  over  the  sleeper's  head, 
and  then  threw  his  powerful  frame  and  tremendous  weight 
full  upon  Concho's  upturned  face,  while  his  strong  arms 
clasped  the  blanket-pinioned  limbs  of  his  victim.  There 
was  a  momentary  upheaval,  a  spasm,  and  a  struggle  ;  but 
the  tightly  rolled  blanket  clung  to  the  unfortunate  man  like 
cerements. 


WHO   CLAIMED    IT  I/ 

There  was  no  noise,  no  outcry,  no  sound  of  struggle. 
There  was  nothing  to  be  seen  but  the  peaceful,  prostrate 
figures  of  the  two  men  darkly  outlined  on  the  ledge.  They 
might  have  been  sleeping  in  each  other's  arms.  In  the 
black  silence  the  stealthy  tread  of  Wiles  in  the  bush  above 
was  distinctly  audible. 

Gradually  the  struggles  grew  fainter.  Then  a  whisper 
from  the  crags  :  — 

"  I  can't  see  you.     What  are  you  doing  ?  " 

"  Watching  !  " 

"  Sleeps  he  ?  " 

"  He  sleeps !  " 

"  Soundly  ?  " 

"  Soundly." 

"  After  the  manner  of  the  dead  ?  " 

"  After  the  fashion  of  the.  dead  !  " 

The  last  tremor  had  ceased.  Pedro  rose  as  Wiles  de- 
scended. 

"  All  is  ready,"  said  Wiles  ;  "  you  are  a  witness  of  my 
placing  the  notifications  ?  " 

"  I  am  a  witness." 

"  But  of  this  one  ?  "  pointing  to  Concho.  "  Shall  we 
leave  him  here  ?  " 

"  A  drunken  imbecile  —  why  not  ?  " 

Wiles  turned  his  left  eye  on  the  speaker.  They  chanced 
to  be  standing  nearly  in  the  same  attitude  they  had  stood 
the  preceding  night.  Pedro  uttered  a  cry  and  an  impreca- 
tion, "  Carramba  !  Take  your  devil's  eye  from  me  !  What 
see  you  ?  Eh  —  what  ?  " 

"  Nothing,  good  Pedro,"  said  Wiles,  turning  his  bland 
right  cheek  to  Pedro.  The  infuriated  and  half-frightened 
ex-vaquero  returned  the  long  knife  he  had  half  drawn  from 
its  sheath,  and  growled  surlily  :  — 

"  Go  on,  then  !  But  keep  thou  on  that  side  and  I  will  on 
this."  And  so,  side  by  side,  listening  watching,  distrust 


IS  THE    STORY   OF   A   MINE 

ful  of  all  things,  but  mainly  of  each  other,  they  stole  back 
and  up  into  those  shadows  from  which  they  might  have 
been  evoked. 

A  half  hour  passed,  in  which  the  east  brightened, 
flashed,  and  again  melted  into  gold.  And  then  the  sun 
came  up  haughtily,  and  a  fog  that  had  stolen  across  the 
summit  in  the  night  arose  and  fled  up  the  mountain  side, 
tearing  its  white  robes  in  its  guilty  haste,  and  leaving  them 
fluttering  from  tree  and  crag  and  scar.  A  thousand  tiny 
blades,  nestling  in  'the  crevices  of  rocks,  nurtured  in  storms, 
and  rocked  by  the  trade-winds,  stretched  their  wan  and 
feeble  arms  toward  him  ;  but  Concho  the  strong,  Concho 
the  brave,  Concho  the  light-hearted,  spake  not  nor  stirred. 

IV 

WHO    TOOK    IT 

There  was  persistent  neighing  in  the  summit.  Concho's 
horse  wanted  his  breakfast. 

This  protestation  reached  the  ears  of  a  party  ascending 
the  mountain  from  its  western  face.  To  one  of  the  party 
it  was  familiar. 

"  Why,  blank  it  all,  that 's  Chiquita.  That  d— d  Mexi- 
can 's  lying  drunk  somewhere,"  said  the  President  of  the 
B.  M.  Co. 

"  I  don't  like  the  look  of  this  at  all,"  said  Dr.  Guild, 
as  they  rode  up  beside  the  indignant  animal.  "  If  it  had 
been  an  American  it  might  have  been  carelessness,  but 
no  Greaser  ever  forgets  his  beast.  Drive  ahead,  boys  ;  we 
may  be  too  late." 

In  half  an  hour  they  came  in  sight  of  the  ledge  below, 
the  crumbled  furnace,  and  the  motionless  figure  of  Concho, 
wrapped  in  a  blanket,  lying  prone  in  the  sunlight. 

"  I  told  you  so  —  drunk,"  said  th?  President. 


WHO   TOOK   IT  i& 

The  doctor  looked  grave,  but  did  not  speak.  They  dis- 
mounted and  picketed  their  horses,  then  crept  on  all-fours 
to  the  ledge  above  the  furnace.  There  was  a  cry  from 
Secretary  Gibbs,  "  Look  yer.  Some  feller  has  been  jumping 
us,  boys.  See  these  notices." 

There  were  two  notices  on  canvas  affixed  to  the  rock, 
claiming  the  ground,  and  signed  by  Pedro,  Manuel,  Miguel, 
Wiles,  and  Eoscommon. 

"  This  was  done,  Doctor,  while  your  trustworthy  Greaser 
locator  —  d — n  him  —  lay  there  drunk.  What 's  to  be 
done  now  ?  " 

But  the  Doctor  was  making  his  way  to  the  unfortunate 
cause  of  their  defeat  lying  there  quite  mute  to  their  re- 
proaches. The  others  followed  him. 

The  Doctor  knelt  beside  Concho,  unrolled  him,  placed  his 
hand  upoia  his  waist,  his  ear  over  his  heart,  and  then  said,  — 

"  Dead." 

"  Of  course.  He  got  medicine  of  you  last  night.  This 
comes  of  your  d — d  heroic  practice." 

But  the  Doctor  was  too  much  occupied  to  heed  the 
speaker's  raillery.  He  had  peered  into  Concho's  protuber- 
ant eye,  opened  his  mouth,  and  gazed  at  the  swollen  tongue, 
and  then  suddenly  rose  to  his  feet. 

"  Tear  down  those  notices,  boys,  but  keep  them.  Put 
up  your  own.  Don't  be  alarmed,  you  will  not  be  inter- 
fered with,  for  here  is  murder  added  to  robbery." 

"  Murder  !  " 

"  Yes,"  said  the  Doctor  excitedly,  "  I  '11  take  my  oath  on 
any  inquest  that  this  man  was  strangled  to  death.  He  was 
surprised  while  asleep.  Look  here."  He  pointed  to  the 
revolver  still  in  Concho's  stiffening  hand,  which  the  mur- 
dered man  had  instantly  cocked,  but  could  not  use  in  the 
struggle. 

"  That 's  so,"  said  the  President,  "  no  man  goes  to  sleep 
with  a  cocked  revolver.  What 's  to  be  done  ?  " 


20  THE   STORY   OF  A  MINE 

"Everything,"  said  the  Doctor.  "This  deed  was  com- 
mitted within  the  last  two  hours  ;  the  hody  is  still  warm. 
The  murderer  did  not  come  our  way,  or  we  should  have 
met  him  on  the  trail.  He  is,  if  anywhere,  hetween  here 
and  Tres  Pinos." 

"  Gentlemen,"  said  the  President  with  a  slight  prepar- 
atory and  half-judicial  cough,  "  two  of  you  will  stay  here 
and  stick  !  The  others  will  follow  me  to  Tres  Pinos.  The 
law  has  been  outraged.  You  understand  the  Court !  " 

By  some  odd  influence  the  little  group  of  half-cynical, 
half-trifling,  and  wholly  reckless  men  had.  become  suddenly 
sober,  earnest  citizens.  They  said,  "  Go  on,"  nodded  their 
heads,  and  betook  themselves  to  their  horses. 

"Had  we  not  better  wait  for  the  inquest  and  swear  out 
a  warrant  ?  "  said  the  Secretary  cautiously. 

"  How  many  men  have  we  ?  " 

«  Five  ! " 

"  Then,"  said  the  President,  summing  up  the  Revised 
Statutes  of  the  State  of  California  in  one  strong  sentence, 
"  then  we  don't  want  no  d — d  warrant." 


WHO    HAD    A    LIEN    ON    IT 

It  was  high  noon  at  Tres  Pinos.  The  three  pines  from 
which  it  gained  its  name,  in  the  dusty  road  and  hot  air, 
seemed  to  smoke  from  their  balsamic  spires.  There  was 
a  glare  from  the  road,  a  glare  from  the  sky,  a  glare  from 
the  rocks,  a  ^lare  from  the  white  canvas  roofs  of  the  few 
shanties  and  cabins  which  made  up  the  village.  There  was 
even  a  glare  from  the  unpainted  red-wood  boards  of  Kos- 
commoii's  grocery  and  tavern,  and  a  tendency  on  the  warp- 
ing floor  of  the  veranda  to  curl  xip  beneath  the  feet  of  the 


WHO   HAD   A   LIEN   ON   IT  21 

intruder.  A  few  mules,  near  the  watering-trough,  had 
shrunk  within  the  scant  shadow  of  the  corral. 

The  grocery  business  of  Mr.  Roscommon,  although  ade- 
quate and  sufficient  for  the  village,  was  not  exhausting  nor 
overtaxing  to  the  proprietor  ;  the  refilling  of  the  pork  and 
flour  barrel  of  the  average  miner  was  the  work  of  a  brief 
hour  on  Saturday  nights,  but  the  daily  replenishment  of  the 
average  miner  with  whiskey  was  arduous  and  incessant. 
Roscommon  spent  more  time  behind  his  bar  than  his 
grocer's  counter.  Add  to  this  the  fact  that  a  long  shed-like 
extension  or  wing  bore  the  legend,  "  Cosmopolitan  Hotel, 
Board  or  Lodging  by  the  Day  or  Week.  M.  Roscommon," 
and  you  got  an  idea  of  the  variety  of  the  proprietor's  func- 
tions. The  "  hotel,"  however,  was  more  directly  under  the 
charge  of  Mrs.  Roscommon,  a  lady  of  thirty  years,  strong, 
truculent,  and  good-hearted. 

Mr.  Roscommon  had  early  adopted  the  theory  that  most 
of  his  customers  were  insane,  and  were  to  be  alternately 
bullied  or  placated,  as  the  case  might  be.  Nothing  that 
occurred,  no  extravagance  of  speech  or  act,  ever  ruffled  his 
equilibrium,  which  was  as  dogged  and  stubborn  as  it  was 
outwardly  calm.  When  not  serving  liquors,  or  in  the  in- 
terval while  it  was  being  drunk,  he  was  always  wiping  his 
counter  with  an  exceedingly  dirty  towel,  or,  indeed,  any- 
thing that  came  handy.  Miners,  noticing  this  purely  per- 
functory habit,  occasionally  supplied  him  slyly  with  articles 
inconsistent  with  their  service,  —  fragments  of  their  shirts 
and  under-clothing,  flour-sacking,  tow,  and  once  with  a 
flannel  petticoat  of  his  wife's,  stolen  from  the  line  in  the 
back  yard.  Roscommon  would  continue  his  wiping  with- 
out looking  up,  but  yet  conscious  of  the  presence  of  each 
customer.  "And  it's  not  another  dhrop  ye '11  git,  Jack 
Brown,  until  ye  've  wiped  out  the  black  score  that  stands 
agin  ye."  "  And  it 's  there  ye  are,  darlint,  and  it 's  here  's 
the  bottle  that 's  been  lukin'  for  ye  sins  Saturday."  "  And 


22  THE   STORY    OF   A    MINE 

fwhat  hev  ye  done  with  the  last  I  sent  ye,  ye  divil  of  a 
M'Corkle  ?  and  here  's  me  back  that 's  bruk  entoirely  wid 
dipping  intil  the  pork  barl  to  give  ye  the  best  sides,  —  and 
ye  spending  yur  last  cint  on  a  tare  into  Gilroy.  Whist !  and 
if  it  's  fer  foighting  ye  are,  boys,  there  's  an  'lligant  bit  o' 
sod  beyant  the  corral,  and  it's  maybe  meself  '11  come  out  wid 
a  shtick  and  be  sociable." 

On  this  particular  day,  however,  Master  Roscommon  was 
not  in  his  usual  spirits  ;  and  when  the  clatter  of  horses'  hoofs 
before  the  door  announced  the  approach  of  strangers,  he  ab- 
solutely ceased  wiping  his  counter,  and  looked  up,  as  Dr. 
Guild,  the  President  and  Secretary  of  the  new  company, 
strode  into  the  shop. 

"  We  are  looking,"  said  the  President,  "  for  a  man  by 
the  name  of  Whiles,  and  three  Mexicans  known  as  Pedro, 
Manuel,  and  Miguel." 

"Ye  are?" 

"  We  are  !  " 

"  Faix,  and  I  hope  ye  '11  foind  'em.  And  if  ye  '11  git 
from  'em  the  score  I've  got  agin  'em,  darlint,  I'll  add  a 
blessing  to  it." 

There  was  a  laugh  at  ftris  from  the  bystanders,  who, 
somehow,  resented  the  intrusion  of  these  strangers. 

"  I  fear  you  will  find  it  no  laughing  matter,  gentlemen," 
said  Dr.  Guild  a  little  stiffly,  "  when  I  tell  you  that  a  murder 
has  been  committed,  and  the  men  I  am  seeking  within  an 
hour  of  that  murder  put  up  that  notice  signed  by  their 
names,"  and  Dr.  Guild  displayed  the  paper. 

There  was  a  breathless  silence  among  the  crowd  as  they 
eagerly  pressed  around  the  Doctor.  Only  Roscommon  kept 
on  wiping  his  counter. 

"  You  will  observe,  gentlemen,  that  the  name  of  Ros- 
common also  appears  on  this  paper  as  one  of  the  original 
locators." 

"  And  sure,  darlint,"  said  Roscommon  without  looking  up, 


,     WHO    HAD    A   LIEN   ON   IT  23 

"  if  ye  've  no  better  ividince  agin  them  boys  tben  ye  have 
forningt  me,  it 's  home  ye  'd  betther  be  riding  to  wanst. 
For  it 's  meself  as  has  n't  sturred  fut  out  of  the  store  the 
day  and  noight  —  more  betoken  as  the  boys  I  've  sarved  kin 
testify." 

"  That 's  so,  Ross,"  chorused  the  crowd ;  "  we  've  been 
running  the  old  man  all  night." 

"  Then  how  comes  your  name  on  this  paper  ?  " 

"  Oh,  murdher  !  will  ye  listin  to  him,  boys !  As  if  every 
felly  that  owed  me  a  whiskey  bill  did  n't  come  to  me  and 
say,  '  Ah,  Misther  Roscommon,'  or  '  Moike,'  as  the  case 
moight  be, '  sure  it 's  an  illigant  sthrike  I  've  made  this  day, 
and  it 's  meself  that  has  put  down  your  name  as  an  original 
locater,  and  yer  fortune  's  made,  Mr.  Roscommon,  and  will 
yer  fill  me  up  another  quart  for  the  good  luck  betune  you 
and  me  ?  '  Ah,  but  ask  Jack  Brown  over  yan  if  it  is  n't 
sick  that  I  am  of  his  original  locations." 

The  laugh  that  followed  this  speech,  and  its  practical 
application,  convinced  the  party  that  they  had  blundered, 
that  they  could  obtain  no  clue  to  the  real  culprits  here,  and 
that  any  attempt  by  threats  would  meet  violent  opposition. 
Nevertheless  the  Doctor  was  persistent. 

"  When  did  you  see  these  men  last  ?  " 

"  When  did  I  see  them,  is  it  ?  Bedad,  what  with  sarvin' 
up  the  liquor  and  keeping  me  counters  dry  and  swate  I 
never  see  them  at  all." 

"  That 's  so  !  "  chorused  the  crowd  again,  to  whom  the 
whole  proceeding  was  delightfully  farcical. 

"  Then  I  can  tell  you,  gentlemen,"  said  the  Doctor 
stiffly,  "  that  they  were  in  Monterey  last  night,  that  they 
did  not  return  on  that  trail  this  morning,  and  that  they 
must  have  passed  here  at  daybreak." 

With  these  words,  which  the  Doctor  regretted  as  soon  as 
delivered,  the  party  rode  away. 

Mr.  Roscommon  resumed  his  service  and  counter-wiping. 


24  THE   STORY   OF  A  MINE 

But  late  that  night,  when  the  bar  was  closed  and  the  last 
loiterer  summarily  ejected,  Mr.  Roscommon,  in  the  conjugal 
privacy  of  his  chamber,  produced  a  legal-looking  paper. 
"  Read  it,  Maggie,  darlint ;  for  it 's  meself  never  had  the 
larnin'  nor  the  parts." 

Mrs.  Roscommon  took  the  paper. 

"  Shure,  it 's  law  papers,  making  over  some  property  to 
yez.  0  Moike  !  ye  have  n't  been  spekilating  ?  " 

"  Whist !  and  fwhatz  that  durty  gray  paper,  wid  the  sales 
and  flourishes  ?  " 

"  Faix,  it  bothers  me  intoirely.  Shure  it  oin't  in  Eng- 
lish." 

"  Whist !  Maggie,  it 's  a  Spanish  grant !  " 

"  A  Spanish  grant  ?  0  Moike,  and  what  did  ye  giv  for 
it?" 

Mr.  Roscommon  laid  his  finger  beside  his  nose  and  said 
softly,  "  Whishkey  !  " 

VI 

HOW   A    GRANT    WAS    GOT    FOR    IT 

While  the  Blue  Mass  Company,  with  more  zeal  than 
discretion,  were  actively  pursuing  Pedro  and  Wiles  over  the 
road  to  Tres  Pinos,  Senores  Miguel  and  Manuel  were  com- 
fortably seated  in  a  fonda  at  Monterey,  smoking  cigarritos 
and  discussing  their  late  discovery.  But  they  were  in  no 
better  mood  than  their  late  companions,  and  it  appeared 
from  their  conversation  that  in  an  evil  moment  they  had 
sold  out  their  interest  in  the  alleged  silver  mine  to  Wiles 
and  Pedro  for  a  few  hundred  dollars,  succumbing  to  what 
they  were  assured  would  be  an  active  opposition  on  the 
part  of  the  Americanos.  The  astute  reader  will  easily 
understand  that  the  accomplished  Mr.  Wiles  did  not  in- 
form them  of  its  value  as  a  quicksilver  mine,  although  he 


HOW   A   GRANT   WAS   GOT  FOR   IT  25 

was  obliged  to  impart  his  secret  to  Pedro  as  a  necessary 
accomplice  and  reckless  coadjutor.  That  Pedro  felt  no 
qualms  of  conscience  in  thus  betraying  his  two  comrades 
may  be  inferred  from  his  recent  direct  and  sincere  treatment 
of  Concho ;  and  that  he  would,  if  occasion  offered  or  policy 
made  it  expedient,  as  calmly  obliterate  Mr.  Wiles,  that 
gentleman  himself  never  for  a  moment  doubted. 

"  If  we  had  waited  but  a  little  he  would  have  given 
more,  this  cockeye  !  "  regretted  Manuel  querulously. 

"  Not  a  peso,"  said  Miguel  firmly. 

"  And  why,  my  Miguel  ?  Thou  knowest  we  could  have 
worked  the  mine  ourselves." 

"  Good,  and  lost  even  that  lalioi1.  Look  you,  little 
brother.  Show  to  me  now  .the  Mexican  that  has  ever 
made  a  real  of  a  mine  in  California.  How  many,  eh  ? 
None  !  Not  a  one.  Who  owns  the  Mexican's  mine,  eh  ? 
Americanos  !  Who  takes  money  from  the  Mexican's  mine  ? 
Americanos.  Thou  rememberest  Briones,  who  spent  a  gold 
mine  to  make  a  silver  one  ?  Who  has  the  lands  and  house 
of  Briones  ?  Americanos  !  Who  has  the  cattle  of  Briones  ? 
Americanos  !  Who  has  the  mine  of  Briones  ?  America- 
nos !  Who  has  the  silver  Briones  never  found  ?  America- 
nos !  Always  the  same  !  Forever  !  Ah  !  carramba  !  " 

Then  the  Evil  One  evidently  took  it  into  his  head  and 
horns  to  worry  and  toss  these  men  —  comparatively  inno- 
cent as  they  were  —  still  further,  for  a  purpose.  For 
presently  to  them  appeared  one  Victor  Garcia,  whilom  a 
clerk  of  the  Ayuntemiento,  who  rallied  them  over  aguar- 
diente, and  told  them  the  story  of  the  quicksilver  discovery, 
and  the  two  mining  claims  taken  out  that  night  by  Concho 
and  Wiles.  Whereat  Manuel  exploded  with  profanity  and 
burnt  blue  with  sulphurous  malediction  ;  but  Miguel,  the 
recent  ecclesiastic,  sat  livid  and  thoughtful.  Finally  came 
a  pause  in  Manuel's  bombardment,  and  something  like  this 
conversation  took  place  between  the  cooler  actors  :  — 


£6  THE   STORY   OF  A   MINE 

Miguel  (thoughtfully).  "  When  was  it  thou  didst  peti 
tion  for  lands  in  the  valley,  friend  Victor  ? ''' 

Victor  (amazedly).  "Never!  It  is  a  sterile  waste. 
Am  I  a  fool  ?  " 

Miguel  (softly).  "  Thou  didst.  Of  thy  Governor,  Mich- 
eltorena.  I  have  been  the  application." 

Victor  (beginning  to  appreciate  a  rodential  odor).  "  Si  ! 
I  had  forgotten.  Art  thou  sure  it  was  in  the  valley  ?  " 

Miguel  (persuasively).  "  In  the  valley  and  up  the 
falda."  1 

Victor  (with  decision).  "  Certainly.  Of  a  verity  —  the 
falda  likewise." 

Miguel  (eyeing  Victor).  "  And  yet  thou  hadst  not  the 
grant.  Painful  is  it  that  it  should  have  heen  burned  with 
the  destruction  of  the  other  archives  by  the  Americanos  at 
Monterey." 

Victor  (cautiously,  feeling  his  way).      "  Possible-men  te." 

Miguel.      "  It  might  be  wise  to  look  into  it." 

Victor  (bluntly).      "  As  why  ?  " 

Miguel.  "For  our  good  and  thine,  friend  Victor.  We 
bring  thee  a  discovery ;  thou  bringest  us  thy  skill,  thy  ex- 
perience, thy  government  knowledge  —  thy  Custom-House 
paper."  2 

Manuel  (breaking  in  drunkardly).  "  But  for  what  ?  We 
are  Mexicans.  Are  we  not  fated  ?  We  shall  lose.  Who 
shall  keep  the  Americanos  off  ?  " 

Miguel.  "  We  shall  take  one  American  in  !  Ha  !  seest 
thou  ?  This  American  comrade  shall  bribe  his  courts,  his 
corregidores.  After  a  little  he  shall  supply  the  men  who 
invent  the  machine  of  steam,  the  mill,  the  furnace,  eh  ?  " 

1  Falda,  or  valda,  «'.  e.  that   part  of  the  skirt  of  a  woman's  robe  that 
breaks  upon  the  ground,  and  is  also  applied  to  the  final  slope  of  a  hill, 
from  the  angle  that  it  makes  upon  the  level  plain. 

2  Grants,   applications,   and   official   notifications,   under    the   Spanish 
Government,  were  drawn  on  a  stamped  paper  known  as  Custom-House 
papor. 


HOW   A   GRANT   WAS   GOT   FOR   IT  27 

Victor.      "  But  who  is  he  —  not  to  steal  ?  " 

Miguel.  "  He  is  that  man  of  Ireland,  a  good  Catholic 
at  Tres  Pinos." 

Victor  and  Manuel  (omnes).      "  Roscommon  ?  " 

Miguel.  "  Of  the  same.  We  shall  give  him  a  share  for 
the  provisions,  for  the  tools,  for  the  aguardiente.  It  is  o± 
the  Irish  that  the  Americanos  have  great  fear.  It  is  of 
them  that  the  votes  are  made,  that  the  President  is  chosen. 
It  is  of  him  that  they  make  the  alcalde  in  San  Francisco. 
And  we  are  of  the  Church,  like  him." 

They  said  "  Bueno  "  all  together,  and  for  the  moment 
appeared  to  be  upheld  by  a  religious  enthusiasm, — a  joint 
confession  of  faith  that  meant  death,  destruction,  and  possi- 
bly forgery,  as  against  the  men  who  thought  otherwise. 

This  spiritual  harmony  did  away  with  all  practical  con- 
sideration and  doubt.  "  I  have  a  little  niece,"  said  Victor, 
"  whose  work  with  the  pen  is  marvelous.  If  one  says  to 
her,  '  Carmen,  copy  me  this,  or  the  other  one,'  —  even  if  it 
be  copperplate,  —  look  you  it  is  done,  and  you  cannot  know 
of  which  is  the  original.  Madre  de  Dios  !  the  other  day 
she  makes  me  a  rubric  *  of  the  Governor,  Pio  Pico,  —  the 
same,  identical.  Thou  knowest  her,  Miguel.  She  asked 
concerning  thee  yesterday." 

With  the  embarrassment  of  an  underbred  man,  Miguel 
tried  to  appear  unconcerned,  but  failed  dismally.  Indeed, 
I  fear  that  the  black  eyes  of  Carmen  had  already  done  their 
perfect  and  accepted  work,  and  had  partly  induced  the 
application  for  Victor's  aid.  He,  however,  dissembled  so 
far  as  to  ask,  — 

"  But  will  she  not  know  ?  r 

"  She  is  a  child." 

"  But  will  she  not  talk  ?  " 

"  Not  if  I  say  nay,  and  if  thou  —  eh,  Miguel  ?  " 

1  The  Spanish  "rubric"  is  the  complicated  flourish  attached  to  a  sig- 
nature, and  is  as  individual  and  characteristic  as  the  handwriting. 


28  THE   STORY   OF   A   MINE 

This  bit  of  flattery  —  which,  by  the  way,  was  a  lie,  foi 
Victor's  niece  did  not  incline  favorably  to  Miguel  —  had 
its  effect.  They  shook  hands  over  the  table. 

"  But,"  said  Miguel,  "  what  is  to  be  done  must  be  done 
now." 

"  At  the  moment,"  said  Victor,  "  and  thou  shalt  see 
it  done.  Eh  !  Does  it  content  thee  ?  then  come  !  " 

Miguel  nodded  to  Manuel.  "  We  will  return  in  an  hour ; 
wait  thou  here." 

They  filed  out  into  the  dark,  irregular  street.  Fate  led 
them  to  pass  the  office  of  Dr.  Guild  at  the  moment  that 
Concho  mounted  his  horse.  The  shadows  concealed  them 
from  their  rival,  but  they  overheard  the  last  injunctions  of 
the  President  to  the  unlucky  Concho. 

"  Thou  hearest  ?  "  said  Miguel,  clutching  his  companion's 
arm. 

"  Yes,"  said  Victor.  "  But  let  him  ride,  my  friend  ;  in 
one  hour  we  shall  have  that  that  shall  arrive  years  before 
him,"  and  with  a  complacent  chuckle  they  passed  unseen 
and  unheard  until,  abruptly  turning  a  corner,  they  stopped 
before  a  low  adobe  house. 

It  had  once  been  a  somewhat  pretentious  dwelling,  but 
had  evidently  followed  the  fortunes  of  its  late  owner,  Don 
Juan  Briones,  who  had  offered  it  as  a  last  sop  to  the  three- 
headed  Cerberus  that  guarded  the  El  Refugio  Plutonian 
treasures,  and  who  had  swallowed  it  in  a  single  gulp.  It 
was  in  a  very  bad  case.  The  furrows  of  its  red-tiled  roof 
looked  as  if  they  were  the  results  of  age  and  decrepitude. 
Its  best  room  had  a  musty  smell  ;  there  was  the  dampness 
of  deliquescence  in  its  slow  decay,  but  the  Spanish  Califor- 
nians  were  sensible  architects,  and  its  massive  walls  and 
partitions  defied  the  earthquake  thrill,  and  all  the  year 
round  kept  an  even  temperature  within. 

Victor  led  Miguel  through  a  low  anteroom  into  a  plainly 
furnished  chamber,  where  Carmen  sat  painting. 


HOW   A   GRANT   WAS   GOT   FOR    IT  2S 

Now  Mistress  Carmen  was  a  bit  of  a  painter,  in  a  pretty 
little  way,  with  all  the  vague  longings  of  an  artist,  but  with- 
out, I  fear,  the  artist's  steadfast  soul.  She  recognized 
beauty  and  form  as  a  child  might,  without  understanding 
their  meaning,  and  somehow  failed  to  make  them  even 
interpret  her  woman's  moods,  which  surely  were  nature's, 
too.  So  she  painted  everything  with  this  innocent  lust 
of  the  eye  —  flowers,  birds,  insects,  landscapes,  and  figures 
—  with  a  joyous  fidelity,  but  no  particular  poetry.  The 
bird  never  sang  to  her  but  one  song,  the  flowers  or  trees 
spake  but  one  language,  and  her  skies  never  brightened 
except  in  color.  She  came  out  strong  on  the  Catholic 
saints,  and  would  toss  you  up  a  cleanly-shaven  Aloysius, 
sweetly  destitute  of  expression,  or  a  dropsical,  lethargic 
Madonna  that  you  could  n't  have  told  from  an  old  master, 
so  bad  it  was.  Her  faculty  of  faithful  reproduction  even 
showed  itself  in  fanciful  lettering,  and  latterly  in  the  imita- 
tion of  rubrics  and  signatures.  Indeed,  with  her  eye  for 
beauty  of  form  she  had  always  excelled  in  penmanship  at 
the  Convent,  an  accomplishment  which  the  good  Sisters 
held  in  great  repute. 

In  person  she  was  petite,  with  a  still  unformed,  girlish 
figure,  perhaps  a  little  too  flat  across  the  back,  and  with 
possibly  a  too  great  tendency  to  a  boyish  stride  in  walking. 
Her  brow,  covered  by  blue-black  hair,  was  low  and  frank 
and  honest ;  her  eyes,  a  very  dark  hazel,  were  not  particu- 
larly large,  but  rather  heavily  freighted  in  their  melancholy 
lids  with  sleeping  passion ;  her  nose  was  of  that  unimpor- 
tant character  which  no  man  remembers ;  her  mouth  was 
small  and  straight,  her  teeth  white  and  regular.  The  whole 
expression  of  her  face  was  piquancy  that  might  be  subdued 
by  tenderness  or  made  malevolent  by  anger.  At  present  it 
was  a  salad  in  which  the  oil  and  vinegar  were  deftly  com- 
bined. The  astute  feminine  reader  will  of  course  under- 
stand that  this  is  the  ordinary  superficial  masculine  criti- 


£0  THE   STORY   OF   A   MINE 

cism,  and  at  once  make  up  her  mind  both  as  to  the  char- 
acter of  the  young  lady  and  the  competency  of  the  critic. 
I  only  know  that  /  rather  liked  her.  And  her  functions 
are  somewhat  important  in  this  veracious  history. 

She  looked  up,  started  to  her  feet,  leveled  her  black 
brows  at  the  intruder,  but,  at  a  sign  from  her  uncle,  showed 
her  white  teeth  and  spake. 

It  was  only  a  sentence,  and  a  rather  commonplace  one 
at  that ;  but  if  she  could  have  put  her  voice  upon  her  can- 
vas she  might  have  retrieved  the  Garcia  fortunes.  Fof  it 
was  so  musical,  so  tender,  so  sympathizing,  so  melodious, 
so  replete  with  the  graciousness  of  womankind,  that  she 
seemed  to  have  invented  the  language.  And  yet  that 
sentence  was  only  an  exaggerated  form  of  the  "  How  d'  ye 
do,"  whined  out,  doled  out,  lisped  out,  or  shot  out  from  the 
pretty  mouths  of  my  fair  countrywomen. 

Miguel  admired  the  paintings.  He  was  struck  particu- 
larly with  a  crayon  drawing  of  a  mule  :  "  Mother  of  God  ! 
it  is  the  mule  itself  — -  observe  how  it  will  not  go." 

Then  the  crafty  Victor  broke  in  with,  "  But  it  is  nothing 
to  her  writing ;  look,  you  shall  tell  to  me  which  is  the  hand- 
writing of  Pio  Pico,"  and  from  a  drawer  in  the  secretary  he 
drew  forth  two  signatures.  One  was  affixed  to  a  yellowish 
paper,  the  other  drawn  on  plain  white  foolscap. 

Of  course  Miguel  took  the  more  modern  one  with  lover- 
like  gallantry.  "  It  is  this  is  genuine  !  " 

Victor  laughed  triumphantly.  Carmen  echoed  the  laugh 
melodiously  in  childlike  glee,  and  added,  with  a  slight  toss 
of  her  piquant  head,  "  It  is  mine  !  "  The  best  of  the  sex 
will  not  refuse  a  just  and  overdue  compliment  from  even  the 
man  they  dislike.  It 's  the  principle  they  're  after,  not  the 
sentiment. 

But  Victor  was  not  satisfied  with  this  proof  of  his  niece's 
skill.  "  Say  to  her,"  he  demanded  of  Miguel,  "  what  name 
thou  lik'st  and  it  shall  be  done  before  thee  here." 


HOW   A    GRANT   WAS   GOT   FOR   IT  31 

Miguel  was  not  so  much  in  love  but  he  perceived  the 
drift  of  Victor's  suggestion,  and  remarked  that  the  rubric 
of  Governor  Micheltorena  was  exceedingly  complicated  and 
difficult. 

"  She  shall  do  it !  "  responded  Victor,  with  decision. 

From  a  file  of  old  departmental  papers  the  Governor's 
signature  and  that  involved  rubric,  which  must  have  cost 
his  late  Excellency  many  youthful  days  of  anxiety,  was 
produced  and  laid  before  Carmen. 

Carmen  took  her  pen  in  her  hand,  looked  at  the  brownish- 
looking  document  and  then  at  the  virgin  whiteness  of  the 
foolscap  before  her.  "  But,"  she  said,  pouting  prettily,  "  J 
should  have  to  first  paint  this  white  paper  brown.  And 
it  will  absorb  the  ink  more  quickly  than  that.  When  I 
painted  the  San  Antonio  of  the  Mission  San  Gabriel,  for 
Father  Acolti,  I  had  to  put  the  decay  in  with  my  oils  and 
brushes  before  the  good  Padre  would  accept  it." 

The  two  scamps  looked  at  each  other.  It  was  their 
supreme  moment.  "  I  think  I  have,"  said  Victor,  with 
assumed  carelessness,  —  "I  think  I  have  some  of  the  old 
Custom-House  paper."  He  produced  from  the  secretary  a 
sheet  of  brown  paper  with  a  stamp.  "  Try  it  on  that." 

Carmen  smiled  with  childish  delight,  tried  it,  and  pro- 
duced a  marvel ! 

"  It  is  as  magic,"  said  Miguel,  feigning  to  cross  himself. 

Victor's  role  was  more  serious :  he  affected  to  be  deeply 
touched ;  took  the  paper,  folded  it,  and  placed  it  in  his 
breast.  "  I  shall  make  a  good  fool  of  Don  Jose  Castro," 
he  said  :  "  he  will  declare  it  is  the  Governor's  own  signature, 
for  he  was  his  friend  ;  but  have  a  care,  Carmen  !  that  you 
spoil  it  not  by  the  opening  of  your  red  lips.  When  he  is 
fooled  I  will  tell  him  of  this  marvel,  —  this  niece  of  mine, 
and  he  shall  buy  her  pictures.  Eh,  little  one  ?  "  and  he 
gave  her  the  avuncular  caress,  i.  e.  a  pat  of  the  hand  on 
either  cheek,  and  a  kiss.  Miguel  envied  him,  but  cupidity 


82  THE   STORY    OF   A    MINE 

outgeneraled  Cupid,  and  presently  the  conversation  flagged, 
until  a  convenient  recollection  of  Victor's  —  that  himself 
and  comrade  were  due  at  the  Posada  del  Toros  at  ten  o'clock 
—  gave  them  the  opportunity  to  retire. 

But  not  without  a  chance  shot  from  Carmen.  "  Tell  to 
me,"  she  said,  half  to  Victor  and  half  to  Miguel,  "  what 
has  chanced  with  Concho  ?  He  was  ever  ready  to  bring 
to  me  flowers  from  the  mountain,  and  insects  and  birds. 
Thou  knowest  how  he  would  sit,  0  my  uncle,  and  talk 
to  me  of  the  rare  rocks  he  had  seen,  and  the  bears  and 
the  evil  spirits,  and  now  he  comes  no  longer,  my  Concho ! 
How  is  this  ?  Nothing  evil  has  befallen  him,  surely  ?  " 
and  her  drooping  lids  closed  half-pathetically. 

Miguel's  jealousy  took  fire.  "  He  is  drunk,  Senorita, 
doubtless,  and  has  forgotten  not  only  thee,  but  mayhap  his 
mule  and  pack  !  It  is  his  custom,  ha  !  ha  !  " 

The  red  died  out  of  Carmen's  ripe  lips,  and  she  shut 
them  together  with  a  snap  like  a  steel  purse.  The  dove 
had  suddenly  changed  to  a  hawk  ;  the  child-girl  into  an 
antique  virago ;  the  spirit  hitherto  dimly  outlined  in  her 
face,  of  some  shrewish  Garcia  ancestress,  came  to  the  fore. 
She  darted  a  quick  look  at  her  uncle,  and  then,  with  her 
little  hands  on  her  rigid  hips,  strode  with  two  steps  up  to 
Miguel. 

"  Possibly,  0  Senor  Miguel  Dominguez  Perez  [a  pro- 
found courtesy  here],  it  is  as  thou  sayest.  Drunkard  Con- 
cho may  be  ;  but,  drunk  or  sober,  he  never  turned  his  back 
on  his  friend  —  or  —  [the  words  grated  a  little  here]  —  his 
enemy." 

Miguel  would  have  replied,  but  Victor  was  ready. 
u  Fool,"  he  said,  pinching  his  arm,  "  't  is  an  old  friend. 
And  —  and  —  the  application  is  still  to  be  filled  up.  Are 
you  crazy  ?  " 

But  on  this  point  Miguel  was  not,  and,  with  the  revenge 
of  a  rival  added  to  his  other  instincts,  he  permitted  Victor 
to  lead  him  away. 


WHO   PLEAD   FOR   IT  33 

On  their  return  to  the  fonda  they  found  Master  Manual 
too  far  gone  with  aguardiente,  and  a  general  animosity  to 
the  average  Americano,  to  be  of  any  service.  So  they 
worked  alone,  with  pen,  ink,  and  paper,  in  the  stuffy, 
cigarrito-clouded  back  room  of  the  fonda.  It  was  midnight, 
two  hours  after  Concho  had  started,  that  Miguel  clapped 
spurs  to  his  horse  for  the  village  of  Tres  Pinos,  with  an 
application  to  Governor  Micheltorena  for  a  grant  to  the 
"  Rancho  of  the  Red  Rocks  "  comfortably  bestowed  in  his 
pocket. 

VII 

WHO    PLEAD    FOB    IT 

There  can  be  little  doubt  the  coroner's  jury  of  Fresno 
would  have  returned  a  verdict  of  "  death  from  alcoholism," 
as  the  result  of  their  inquest  into  the  cause  of  Concho's 
death,  had  not  Dr.  Guild  fought  nobly  in  support  of  the 
law  and  his  own  convictions.  A  majority  of  the  jury- 
objected  to  there  being  any  inquest  at  all.  A  sincere  jury- 
man thought  it  hard  that,  whenever  a  Greaser  pegged  out 
in  a  sneakin'  kind  o'  way,  American  citizens  should  be 
taken  from  their  business  to  find  out  what  ailed  him. 
"  'Spose  he  was  killed,"  said  another,  "  thar  ain't  no  time 
this  thirty  year  he  were  n't,  so  to  speak,  just  sufferin'  for  it, 
ez  his  nat'ral  right  ez  a  Mexican."  The  jury  at  last  com- 
promised by  bringing  in  a  verdict  of  homicide  against 
certain  parties  unknown.  Yet  it  was  understood  tacitly 
that  these  unknown  parties  were  severally  Wiles  and  Pedro ; 
Manuel,  Miguel,  and  Roscommon  proving  an  unmistakable 
alibi.  Wiles  and  Pedro  had  fled  to  Lower  California,  and 
Manuel,  Miguel,  and  Roscommon  deemed  it  advisable,  in 
the  then  excited  state  of  the  public  mind,  to  withhold  the 
forged  application  and  claim  from  the  courts  and  the  public 


84  THE    STORY   OF   A   MINE 

comment.  So  that  for  a  year  after  the  murder  of  Concha 
and  the  flight  of  his  assassins  "  The  Blue  Mass  Mining 
Company  "  remained  in  undisturbed  and  actual  possession 
of  the  mine,  and  reigned  in  their  stead. 

But  the  spirit  of  the  murdered  Concho  would  not  down, 
any  more  than  that  of  the  murdered  Banquo,  and  so 
wrought,  no  doubt,  in  a  quiet,  Concho-like  way,  sore  trouble 
with  the  "  Blue  Mass  Company."  For  a  Great  Capitalist 
and  Master  of  Avarice  came  down  to  the  mine  and  found 
it  fair,  and,  taking  one  of  the  Company  aside,  offered  to 
lend  his  name  and  a  certain  amount  of  coin  for  a  con- 
trolling interest,  accompanying  the  generous  offer  with  a 
suggestion  that  if  it  were  not  acceded  to  he  would  be  com- 
pelled to  buy  up  various  Mexican  mines  and  flood  the 
market  with  quicksilver,  to  the  great  detriment  of  the 
"  Blue  Mass  Company,"  which  thoughtful  suggestion,  offered 
by  a  man  frequently  alluded  to  as  one  of  "  California's 
great  mining  princes,"  and  as  one  who  had  "  done  much  to 
develop  the  resources  of  the  State,"  was  not  to  be  lightly 
considered,  and  so,  after  a  cautious  non-consultation  with 
the  Company,  and  a  commendable  secrecy,  the  stockholder 
sold  out.  Whereat  it  was  speedily  spread  abroad  that  the 
Great  Capitalist  had  taken  hold  of  "  Blue  Mass,"  and  the 
stock  went  up  and  the  other  stockholders  rejoiced  —  until 
the  Great  Capitalist  found  that  it  was  necessary  to  put  up 
expensive  mills,  to  employ  a  high-salaried  superintendent, 
in  fact  to  develop  the  mine  by  the  spending  of  its  earnings, 
so  that  the  stock  quoted  at  112  was  finally  saddled  with  an 
assessment  of  $50  per  share.  Another  assessment  of  $50 
to  enable  the  superintendent  to  proceed  to  Russia  and 
Spain  and  examine  into  the  workings  of  the  quicksilver 
mines  there,  and  also  a  general  commission  to  the  gifted 
and  scientific  Pillagemah  to  examine  into  the  various  com- 
ponent parts  of  quicksilver,  and  report  if  it  could  not  be 
manufactured  from  ordinary  sandstone  by  steam  or  electri- 


WHO   PLEAD   FOR   IT  35 

city,  speedily  brought  the  other  stockholders  to  their  senses 
It  was  at  this  time  that  the  good  fellow  "Tom,"  the  seri 
ous-minded  "  Dick,"  and  the  speculative  but  fortunate 
"  Harry,"  brokers  of  the  Great  Capitalist,  found  it  conve- 
nient to  buy  up,  for  the  Great  Capitalist  aforesaid,  the 
various  other  shares  at  great  sacrifice. 

I  fear  that  I  have  bored  my  readers  in  thus  giving  the 
tiresome  details  of  that  ingenuous  American  pastime  which 
my  countrymen  dismiss  in  their  epigrammatic  way  as  the 
"  freezing-out  process."  And  lest  any  reader  should  ques- 
tion the  ethics  of  the  proceeding,  I  beg  him  to  remember 
that  one  gentleman  accomplished  in  this  art  was  always  a 
sincere  and  direct  opponent  of  the  late  Mr.  John  Oakhurst, 
gambler. 

But  for  once  the  Great  Master  of  Avarice  had  not  taken 
into  sufficient  account  the  avarice  of  others,  and  was  sud- 
denly and  virtuously  shocked  to  learn  that  an  application 
for  a  patent  for  certain  lands,  known  as  the  "  Red  Rock 
Rancho,"  was  about  to  be  -offered  before  the  United  States 
Land  Commission.  This  claim  covered  his  mining  prop- 
erty. But  the  information  came  quietly  and  secretly,  as 
all  of  the  Great  Master's  information  was  obtained,  and  he 
took  the  opportunity  to  sell  out  his  clouded  title  and  his 
proprietorship  to  the  only  remaining  member  of  the  original 
"  Blue  Mass "  Company,  a  young  fellow  of  pith,  before 
many-tongued  rumor  had  voiced  the  news  far  and  wide. 
The  blow  was  a  heavy  one  to  the  party  left  in  possession. 
Saddled  by  the  enormous  debts  and  expenses  of  the  Great 
Capitalist,  with  a  credit  now  further  injured  by  the  defec- 
tion of  this  lucky  magnate,  who  was  admired  for  his  skill 
in  anticipating  a  loss,  and  whose  relinquishment  of  any 
project  meant  ruin  to  it,  the  single-handed,  impoverished 
possessor  of  the  mine,  whose  title  was  contested  and  whose 
reputation  was  yet  to  be  made,  —  poor  Biggs,  first  secretary 
and  only  remaining  officer  of  the  "  Blue  Mass  Company," 


86  THE   STORY   OF   A   MINE 

—  looked  ruefully  over  his  books  and  his  last  transfer,  and 
sighed  !  But  I  have  before  intimated  that  he  was  built  of 
good  stuff,  and  that  he  believed  in  his  work  —  which  was 
well  —  and  in  himself,  which  was  better,  and  so,  having  faith 
oven  as  a  grain  of  mustard-seed,  I  doubt  not  he  would  have 
been  able  to  remove  that  mountain  of  quicksilver  beyond 
':he  over-lapping  of  fraudulent  grants.  And,  again,  Provi- 
dence —  having  disposed  of  these  several  scamps  —  raised 
i i'p  to  him  a  friend.  But  that  friend  is  of  sufficient  im- 
portance to  this  veracious  history  to  deserve  a  paragraph  to 
himself. 

The  Pylades  of  this  Orestes  was  known  of  ordinary 
mortals  as  Royal  Thatcher.  His  genealogy,  birth,  and  edu- 
cation are,  I  take  it,  of  little  account  to  this  chronicle, 
which  is  only  concerned  with  his  friendship  for  Biggs  and 
the  result  thereof.  He  had  known  Biggs  a  year  br  two 
previously ;  they  had  shared  each  other's  purses,  bunks, 
cabins,  provisions,  and  often  friends,  with  that  perfect 
freedom  from  obligation  which  belonged  to  the  pioneer 
life.  The  varying  tide  of  fortune  had  just  then  stranded 
Thatcher  on  a  desert  sand-hill  in  San  Francisco,  with  an 
uninsured  cargo  of  Expectations,  while  to  Thatcher's  active 
but  not  curious  fancy  it  had  apparently  lifted  his  friend's 
bark  over  the  bar  in  the  Monterey  mountains  into  an  open 
quicksilver  sea.  So  that  he  was  considerably  surprised  on 
receiving  a  note  from  Biggs  to  this  purport :  — 

DEAR  ROY,  —  Run  down  here  and  help  a  fellow.  I  've 
too  much  of  a  load  for  one.  Maybe  we  can  make  a  team 
and  pull  "  Blue  Mass  "  out  yet.  BIGGSEY. 

Thatcher,  sitting  in  his  scantily  furnished  lodgings, 
doubtful  of  his  next  meal  and  in  arrears  for  rent,  heard 
this  Macedonian  cry  as  St.  Paul  did.  He  wrote  a  promis- 
sory and  soothing  note  to  his  landlady,  but,  fearing  the 


OF   COUNSEL   FOR   IT  3? 

"  sweet  sorrow  "of  a  personal  parting,  let  his  collapsed 
valise  down  from  his  window  by  a  cord,  and,  by  means  of 
an  economical  combination  of  stage-riding  and  pedestrianism, 
he  presented  himself,  at  the  close  of  the  third  day,  at  Biggs' 
door.  In  a  few  moments  he  was  in  possession  of  the 
3tory ;  half  an  hour  later,  in  possession  of  half  the  mine,  its 
jnfelix  past  and  its  doubtful  future,  equally  with  his  friend. 

Business  over,  Biggs  turned  to  look  at  his  partner. 
<f  You  've  aged  some  since  I  saw  you  last,"  he  said. 
"  Starvation  luck,  I  'spose.  I  'd  know  your  eyes,  old  feKow, 
if  I  saw  them  among'ten  thousand,  but  your  lips  are  parched 
and  your  mouth's  grimmer  than  it  used  to  be." 

Thatcher  smiled,  to  show  that  he  could  still  do  so,  but  did 
not  say,  as  he  might  have  said,  that  self-control,  suppressed 
resentment,  disappointment,  and  occasional  hunger  had  done 
something  in  the  way  of  correcting  nature's  obvious  mis- 
takes, and  shutting  up  a  kindly  mouth.  He  only  took  off 
his  threadbare  coat,  rolled  up  his  sleeves,  and  saying, 
"  We  've  got  lots  of  work  and  some  fighting  before  us," 
pitched  \n to  the  "  affairs  "  of  the  Blue  Mass  Company  on 
the  instant. 

VIII 

OF    COUNSEL    FOR    IT 

Meanwhile  Roscommon  had  waited.  Then,  in  Garcia'^ 
name  and  backed  by  him,  he  laid  his  case  before  the  Land 
Commission,  filing  the  application  (with  forged  indorse- 
ments) to  Governor  Micheltorena,  and  alleging  that  the 
original  grant  was  destroyed  by  fire.  And  why  ? 

It  seemed  there  was  a  limit  to  Miss  Carmen's  imitative 
talent.  Admirable  as  it  was,  it  did  not  reach  to  the  repro- 
duction of  that  official  seal,  which  would  have  been  a 
necessary  appendage  to  the  Governor's  grant.  But  there 
were  letters  written  on  stamped  paper  by  Governor  Michel- 


S8  THE    STORY    OF    A   MINE 

torena,  to  himself,  Garcia,  and  to  Miguel,  and  to  Manuel's 
father,  all  of  which  were  duly  signed  by  the  sign  manual 
and  rubric  of  Mrs.  Governor-Micheltorena-Carmen-de-Haro. 
And  then  there  was  "  parol  "  evidence  and  plenty  of  it ; 
witnesses  who  remembered  everything  about  it,  —  namely, 
Manuel,  Miguel,  and  the  all-recollecting  De  Haro ;  here 
were  details,  poetical  and  suggestive  ;  and  Dame-Quicklyish, 
as  when  his  late  Excellency,  sitting,  not  "  by  a  sea-coal 
fire,"  but  with  aguardiente  and  cigarros,  had  sworn  to  him, 
the  ex-ecclesiastic  Miguel,  that  he  should  grant  and  had 
granted  Garcia's  request.  There  were  clouds  of  witnesses, 
conversations,  letters  and  records,  glib  and  pat  to  the 
occasion.  In  brief,  there  was  nothing  wanted  but  the  seal 
of  his  Excellency.  The  only  copy  of  that  was  in  the  pos- 
session of  a  rival  school  of  renaissant  art  and  the  restoration 
of  antiques,  then  doing  business  before  the  Land  Com- 
mission. 

And  yet  the  claim  was  rejected  !  Having  lately  recom- 
mended two  separate  claimants  to  a  patent  for  the  same 
land,  the  Land  Commission  became  cautious  and  conserva- 
tive. 

Roscommon  was  at  first  astounded,  then  indignant,  and 
then  warlike ;  he  was  for  an  "  appale  to  onst  !  " 

With  the  reader's  previous  knowledge  of  Roscommon's 
disposition  this  may  seem  somewhat  inconsistent ;  but  there 
are  certain  natures  to  whom  litigation  has  all  the  excitement 
of  gambling,  and  it  should  be  borne  in  mind  that  this  was 
his  first  lawsuit.  So  that  his  lawyer,  Mr.  Saponaceous 
Wood,  found  him  in  that  belligerent  mood  to  which  coun- 
sel are  obliged  to  hypocritically  bring  all  the  sophistries  of 
their  profession.  "  Of  course  you  have  your  right  to  an 
appeal,  but  calm  yourself,  my  dear  sir,  and  consider.  The 
case  was  presented  strongly,  the  evidence  overwhelming  on 
our  side,  but  we  happened  to  be  fighting  previous  decisions 
&f  the  Land  Commission  that  had  brouyht  them  into 


OF   COUNSEL   FOR   IT  39 

trouble ;  so  that,  if  Micheltorena  had  himself  appeared  in 
Court  and  testified  to  his  giving  you  the  grant,  it  would 
have  made  no  difference :  no  Spanish  grant  had  a  show 
then,  nor  will  it  have  for  the  next  six  months.  You  see, 
my  dear  sir,  the  Government  sent  out  one  of  its  big  Wash- 
ington lawyers  to  look  into  this  business,  and  he  reported 
frauds,  sir,  frauds,  in  a  majority  of  the  Spanish  claims. 
And  why,  sir,  why  ?  He  was  bought,  sir,  bought  —  body 
and  soul  —  by  the  Ring  !  " 

"  And  fwhat  's  the  Ring  ?  "  asked  his  client,  sharply. 

"  The  Ring  is  —  ahem !  a  combination  of  unprincipled 
but  wealthy  persons  to  defeat  the  ends  of  justice." 

"  And  sure,  fwhat 's  the  Ring  to  do  wid  me  grant  as  that 
thaving  Mexican  gave  me  as  the  collatherals  fer  the  bourd 
he  was  owin'  me  ?  Eh,  mind  that  now  !  " 

"  The  Ring,  my  dear  sir,  is  the  other  side.  It  is  — 
ahem  !  —  always  the  Other  Side." 

"  And  why  the  divil  have  n't  we  a  Ring,  too  ?  And 
ain't  I  payin'  ye  five  hundred  dollars— r- and  the  divil  of 
Ring  ye  have  —  at  all,  at  all  ?  Fwhat  am  I  payin'  ye 
fur,  eh  ?  " 

"  That  a  judicious  expenditure  of  money,"  began  Mr. 
Wood,  "  outside  of  actual  disbursements,  may  not  be  of 
infinite  service  to  you,  I  am  not  prepared  to  deny  —  but  "  — 

"  Look  ye,  Mr.  Sappy  Wood,  it 's  the  '  appale '  I  want, 
and  the  grant  I  '11  -have,  more  betoken  as  the  old  woman's 
har-rut  and  me  own  is  set  on  it  entoirely.  Get  me  the  land 
and  I  '11  give  ye  the  half  of  it  —  and  it 's  a  bargain  !  " 

"  But,  my  dear  sir,  there  are  some  rules  in  our  profession, 
—  technical  though  they  may  be  " 

"  The  divil  fly  away  wid  yer  profession.  Shure  is  it  bet- 
ter nor  me  own  ?  If  I  've  risked  me  provisions  and  me 
whiskey,  that  cost  me  solid  goold  in  'Frisco,  on  the  thafe 
Garcia's  claim,  bedad  !  the  loikes  of  ye  can  risk  yer  law." 

"  Well,"  said  Wood,  with  an  awkward  smile,  "  I  suppose 


40  THE    STORY   OF   A   MINE 

that  a  deed  for  one  half,  on  the  consideration  of  friendship, 
my  dear  sir,  and  a  dollar  in  hand  paid  by  me,  might  be 
reconcilable." 

"  Now  it 's  talkin'  ye  are.  But  who  's  the  felly  we  're 
foightin,  that 's  got  the  Ring  ?  " 

"  Ah,  my  dear  sir,  it 's  the  United  States,"  said  the 
lawyer,  with  gravity. 

"The  States!  the  Government  is  it?  And  is 't  that 
ye  're  afeard  of  ?  Shure  it  's  the  Gov'ment  that  I  fought  in 
me  own  counthree,  it  was  the  Gov'ment  that  druv  me  to 
Ameriky,  and  is  it  now  that  I  'm  goin'  back  on  me  prin- 
ciples ?  " 

"  Your  political  sentiments  do  you  great  credit,"  began 
Mr.  Wood. 

•'But  fwhat's  the  Gov'ment  to  do  wid  the  appale  ?" 

uThe  Government,"  said  Mr.  Wood  significantly,  "will 
be  represented  by  the  District  Attorney." 

"  And  who  's  the  spalpeen  ?  " 

"It  is  rumored,"  said  Mr.  Wood,  slowly,  "that  a  new 
one  is  to  be  appointed.  /  myself  have  had  some  ambition 
that  way." 

His  client  bent  a  pair  of  cunning  but  not  over-wise  gray 
eyes  on  his  American  lawyer.  But  he  only  said,  "  Ye 
have,  eh  ?  " 

"  Yes,"  said  Wood,  answering  the  look  boldly,  "and  if  I 
had  the  support  of  a  number  of  your  prominent  country- 
men, who  are  so  powerful  with  all  parties,  —  men  like  you, 
my  dear  sir,  —  why  I  think  you  might  in  time  become  a 
Conservative,  at  least  more  resigned  to  the  Government." 

Then  the  lesser  and  the  greater  scamp  looked  at  each 
other,  and  for  a  moment  or  two  felt  a  warm,  sympathetic, 
friendly  emotion  for  each  other,  and  quietly  shook  hands. 

Depend  upon  it,  there  is  a  great  deal  more  kindly  human 
sympathy  between  two  openly  confessed  scamps  than  there 
is  in  that  calm,  respectable  recognition  that  you  and  I,  dear 


OF  COUNSEL  FOR   IT  41 

reader,  exhibit  when  we  happen  to  oppose  each  other  with 
our  respective  virtues. 

"  And  ye  '11  get  the  appale  ?  " 

"  I  will." 

And  he  DID  !  And,  by  a  singular  coincidence,  got  the 
District  Attorneyship  also  ;  and  with  a  deed  for  one  half 
of  the  "  Red  Rock  Rancho  "  in  his  pocket,  sent  a  brother 
lawyer  in  court  to  appear  for  his  client,  the  United  States, 
as  against  himself,  Roscommon,  Garcia  et  al.  Wild  horses 
could  not  have  torn  him  from  this  noble  resolution.  '  There 
is  an  indescribable  delicacy  in  the  legal  profession  which  we 
literary  folk  ought  to  imitate. 

The  United  States  lost !  Which  meant  ruin  and  destruc- 
tion to  the  Blue  Mass  Company,  who  had  bought  from  a 
paternal  and  beneficent  Government  lands  which  did  n't 
belong  to  it.  The  Mexican  grant,  of  course,  antedated  the 
occupation  of  the  mine  by  Concho,  Wiles,  Pedro  et  al.,  ai. 
well  as  by  the  "  Blue  Mass  Company,"  and  the  solitary 
partners,  Biggs  and  Thatcher.  More  than  that,  it  swal- 
lowed up  their  improvements  ;  it  made  Biggs  and  Thatcher 
responsible  to  Garcia  for  all  the  money  the  Grand  Mas- 
ter of  Avarice  had  made  out  of  it.  Mr.  District  Attorney 
was  apparently  distressed,  but  resigned.  Messrs.  Biggs  and 
Thatcher  were  really  distressed  and  combative. 

And  then,  to  advance  a  few  years  in  this  chronicle,  began 
real  litigation  with"  earnestness,  vigor,  courage,  zeal,  and 
belief  on  the  part  of  Biggs  and  Thatcher,  and  technicalities, 
delay,  equivocation,  and  a  general  Fabian-like  policy  on  the 
part  of  Garcia,  Roscommon  et  al.  Of  all  these  tedious 
processes  I  note  but  one  which,  for  originality  and  audacity 
of  conception,  appears  to  me  to  indicate  more  clearly  the 
temper  and  civilization  of  the  epoch.  A  subordinate  officer 
of  the  District  Court  refused  to  obey  the  mandate  ordering 
a  transcript  of  the  record  to  be  sent  up  to  the  United 
States  Supreme  Court.  It  is  to  be  regretted  that  the  name 


42  THE   STORY   OF   A    MINE 

of  this  Ephesian  youth,  who  thus  fired  the  dome  of  our 
constitutional  liberties,  should  have  been  otherwise  so 
unimportant  as  to  be  confined  to  the  dusty  records  of  that 
doubtful  court  of  which  he  was  a  doubtful  servitor,  and  that 
his  claim  to  immortality  ceased  with  his  double-fee'd  ser- 
vice. But  there  still  stands  on  record  a  letter  by  this 
young  gentleman  arraigning  the  legal  wisdom  of  the  land, 
which  is  not  entirely  devoid  of  amusement  or  even  instruc- 
tion to  young  men  desirous  of  obtaining  publicity  and 
capital.  Howbeit  the  Supreme  Court  was  obliged  to  pro- 
tect itself  by  procuring  the  legislation  of  his  functions 
out  of  his  local  fingers  into  the  larger  palm  of  its  own 
attorney. 

These  various  processes  of  law  and  equity,  which,  when 
exercised  practically  in  the  affairs  of  ordinary  business, 
might  have  occupied  a  few  months'  time,  dragged,  clung, 
retrograded  or  advanced  slowly  during  a  period  of  eight  or 
nine  years.  But  the  strong  arms  of  Biggs  and  Thatcher 
held  POSSESSION,  and,  possibly  by  the  same  tactics  employed 
on  the  other  side,  arrested  or  delayed  ejectment,  and  so 
made  and  sold  quicksilver,  while  their  opponents  were 
spending  gold,  until  Biggs,  sorely  hit  in  the  interlacings  of 
his  armor,  fell  in  the  lists,  his  cheek  growing  waxen  and 
his  strong  arm  feeble,  and,  finding  himself  in  this  sore 
condition,  and  passing,  as  it  were,  made  Over  his  share  in 
trust  to  his  comrade  and  died.  Whereat,  from  that  time 
henceforward,  Royal  Thatcher  reigned  in  his  stead. 

And  so,  having  anticipated  the  legal  record,  we  will  go 
back  to  the  various  human  interests  that  helped  to  make  it  up. 

To  begin  with  Roscommon.  To  do  justice  to  his  later 
conduct  and/ expressions,  it  must  be  remembered  that  when 
he  accepted  the  claim  for  the  "  Red  Rock  Rancho,"  yet 
unquestioned,  from  the  hands  of  Garcia,  he  was  careless, 
or  at  least  unsuspicious  of  fraud.  It  was  not  until  he  had 
experienced  the  intoxication  of  litigation  that  he  felt  some- 


OF  COUNSEL   FOE   IT  48 

how  that  he  was  a  wronged  and  defrauded  man.  but,  with 
the  obstinacy  of  defrauded  men,  preferred  to  arraign  some 
one  fact  or  individual  as  the  impelling  cause  of  his  wrong, 
rather  than  the  various  circumstances  that  led  to  it.  To 
his  simple  mind  it  was  made  patent  that  the  "  Blue  Mass 
Company  "  were  making  money  out  of  a  mine  which  he 
claimed,  and  which  was  not  yet  adjudged  to  them.  Every 
dollar  they  took  out  was  a  fresh  count  in  this  general 
indictment.  Every  delay  toward  this  adjustment  of  rights 
—  although  made  by  his  own  lawyer  —  was  a  personal  wrong. 
The  mere  fact  that  there  never  was  or  had  been  any  quid 
pro  quo  for  this  immense  property — that  it  had  fallen  to 
him  for  a  mere  song  —  only  added  zest  to  his  struggle. 
The  possibility  of  his  losing  this  mere  speculation  affected 
him  more  strongly  than  if  he  had  already  paid  down  the 
million  he  expected  to  get  from  the  mine.  I  don't  know 
that  I  have  indicated  as  plainly  as  I  might  that  universal 
preference  on  the  part  of  mankind  to  get  something  from 
nothing,  and  to  acquire  the  largest  return  for  the  least 
possible  expenditure,  but  I  question  my  right  to  say  that 
Roscommon  was  much  more  reprehensible  than  his  fellows. 
But  it  told  upon  him,  as  it  did  upon  all  whom  the  spirit 
of  the  murdered  Concho  brooded,  —  upon  all  whom  Avarice 
alternately  flattered  and  tortured.  From  his  quiet  gains 
in  his  legitimate  business,  from  the  little  capital  accumu- 
lated through  industry  and  economy,  he  lavished  thousands 
on  this  chimera  of  his  fancy.  He  grew  grizzled  and  worn 
over  his  self-imposed  delusion  ;  he  no  longer  jested  with 
his  customers,  regardless  of  quality  or  station  or  importance  ; 
he  had  cliques  to  mollify,  enemies  to  placate,  friends  to 
reward.  The  grocery  suffered ;  through  giving  food  and 
lodgment  to  clouds  of  unimpeachable  witnesses  before  the 
Land  Commission  and  the  District  Court,  "  Mrs.  Eos." 
found  herself  losing  money.  Even  the  bar  failed  ;  there 
was  a  party  of  Blue  Mass  employees  who  drank  at  the 


44  THE    STOEY    OF    A    MINE 

opposite  fonda  and  cursed  the  Eoscommon  claim  over  the 
liquor.  The  calm,  mechanical  indifference  with  which 
Eoscommon  had  served  his  customers  was  gone.  The 
towel  was  no  longer  used  after  its  perfunctory  fashion ;  the 
counter  remained  unwiped  ;  the  disks  of  countless  glasses 
marked  its  surface,  and  indicated  other  preoccupation  on 
the  part  of  the  proprietor.  The  keen  gray  eye  of  the 
claimant  of  the  Red  Rock  Rancho  was  always  on  the  look- 
out for  friend  or  enemy. 

Garcia  comes  next :  that  gentleman's  inborn  talent  for 
historic  misrepresentation  culminated  unpleasantly  through 
a  defective  memory  ;  a  year  or  two  after  he  had  sworn  in 
his  application  for  the  Rancho,  being  engaged  in  another 
case,  some  trifling  inconsistency  was  discovered  in  his 
statements,  which  had  the  effect  of  throwing  the  weight  of 
evidence  to  the  party  who  had  paid  him  most,  but  was 
instantly  detected  by  the  weaker  party.  Garcia's  preemi- 
nence as  a  witness,  an  expert  and  general  historian,  began 
to  decline.  He  was  obliged  to  be  corroborated,  and  this 
required  a  liberal  outlay  of  his  fee.  With  the  loss  of  his 
credibility  as  a  witness,  bad  habits  supervened.  He  was 
frequently  drunk,  he  lost  his  position,  he  lost  his  house, 
and  Carmen  removed  to  San  Francisco,  supported  him 
with  her  brush. 

And  this  brings  us  once  more  to  that  pretty  painter  and 
innocent  forger,  whose  unconscious  act  bore  such  baleful 
fruit  on  the  barren  hillsides  of  the  Red  Rock  Rancho,  and 
also  to  a  later  blossom  of  her  life,  that  opened,  however, 
in  kindlier  sunshine. 


WHAT   THE    FAIR    HAD    TO   DO   ABOUT   IT  45 

IX 
WHAT    THE    FAIR    HAD    TO    DO    ABOUT    IT 

The  house  that  Royal  Thatcher  so  informally  quitted  in 
his  exodus  to  the  promised  land  of  Biggs  was  one  of  those 
over-sized,  under-calculated  dwellings  conceived  and  erected 
in  the  extravagance  of  the  San  Francisco  builder's  hopes, 
and  occupied  finally  to  his  despair.  Intended  originally 
as  the  palace  of  some  inchoate  Californian  Aladdin,  it 
usually  ended  as  a  lodging-house  in  which  some  helpless 
widow,  or  hopeless  spinster,  managed  to  combine  respect- 
ability with  the  hard  task  of  bread-getting.  Thatcher's 
landlady  was  one  of  the  former  class.  She  had  unfortu- 
nately survived  not  only  her  husband,  but  his  property, 
and,  living  in  some  deserted  chamber,  had,  after  the  fashion 
of  the  Italian  nobility,  let  out  the  rest  of  the  ruin.  A  ten- 
dency to  dwell  upon  these  facts  gave  her  conversation  a 
peculiar  significance  on  the  first  of  each  month.  Thatcher 
had  noticed  this  with  the  sensitiveness  of  an  impoverished 
gentleman.  But  when,  a  few  days  after  her  lodger's  sudden 
disappearance,  a  note  came  from  him  containing  a  draft  in 
noble  excess  of  all  arrears  and  charges,  the  widow's  heart 
was  lifted,  and  the  rock  smitten  with  the  golden  wand 
gushed  beneficence,  that  shone  in  a  new  gown  for  the 
widow  and  a  new  suit  for  "  Johnny,"  her  son,  a  new  oil- 
cloth in  the  hall,  better  service  to  th'e  lodgers,  and,  let  us 
be  thankful,  a  kindlier  consideration  for  the  poor  little 
black-eyed  painter  from  Monterey,  then  dreadfully  behind 
in  her  room  rent.  For,  to  tell  the  truth,  the  calls  upon 
Miss  de  Haro's  scant  purse  by  her  uncle  had  lately  been 
frequent,  perjury  having  declined  in  the  Monterey  market, 
through  excessive  and  injudicious  supply,  until  the  line  of 
demarcation  between  it  and  absolute  verity  was  so  finely 


46  THE   STOKY   OF   A   MINE 

drawn  that  Victor  Garcia  had  remarked  that  "he  might  as 
well  tell  the  truth  at  once  and  save  his  soul,  since  the  devil 
was  in  the  market !  " 

Mistress  Plodgitt,  the  landlady,  could  not  resist  the 
desire  to  acquaint  Carmen  de  Haro  with  her  good  fortune. 
"He  was  always  a  friend  of  yours,  my  dear,  —  and  I 
know  him  to  be  a  gentleman  that  would  never  let  a  poor 
widow  suffer,  —  and  see  what  he  says  about  you  !  "  Here 
she  produced  Thatcher's  note  and  read :  "  Tell  my  little 
neighbor  that  I  shall  come  back  soon  to  carry  her  and  her 
sketching-tools  off  by  force,  and  I  shall  not  let  her  return 
until  she  has  caught  the  black  mountains  and  the  red 
rocks  she  used  to  talk  about,  and  put  the  Blue  Mass  Mill 
in  the  foreground  of  the  picture  I  shall  order." 

What  is  this,  little  one  ?  Surely,  Carmen,  thou  needst 
not  blush  at  this,  thy  firp,t  grand  offer.  Holy  Virgin  !  is  it 
of  a  necessity  that  thou  shouldst  stick  the  wrong  end  of  thy 
brush  in  thy  mouth,  and  then  drop  it  in  thy  lap  ?  Or  was 
it  taught  thee  by  the  good  Sisters  at  the  convent  to  stride 
in  that  boyish  fashion  to  the  side  of  thy  elders  and  snatch 
from  their  hands  the  missive  thou  wouldst  read  ?  More  of 
this  we  would  know,  0  Carmen,  smallest  of  brunettes. 
Speak,  little  one,  even  in  thine  own  melodious  speech,  that 
I  may  commend  thee  and  thy  rare  discretion  to  my  own 
fair  countrywomen. 

Alas  !  neither  the  present  chronicler  nor  Mistress  Plodgitt 
got  any  further  information  from  the  prudent  Carmen,  and 
must  fain  speculate  upon  certain  facts  that  were  already 
known. 

Mistress  Carmen's  little  room  was  opposite  to  Thatcher's, 
and  once  or  twice,  the  doors  being  open,  Thatcher  had  a 
glimpse  across  the  passage  of  a  black-haired  head  and  a 
sturdy,  boyish  little  figure  in  a  great  blue  apron,  perched 
on  a  stool  before  an  easel ;  and,  6n  the  other  hand,  Carmen 
had  often  been  conscious  of  the  fumes  of  a  tobacco  pipe 


WHAT   THE   FAIR    HAD   TO   DO    ABOUT   IT  4". 

penetrating  her  cloistered  seclusion,  and  had  seen  across 
the  passage,  vaguely  enveloped  in  the  same  nicotine  cloud, 
an  American  Olympian,  in  a  rocking-chair,  with  his  feet  on 
the  mantel-shelf.  They  had  once  or  twice  met  on  the 
staircase,  on  which  occasion  Thatcher  had  greeted  her  with 
a  word  or  two  of  respectful  yet  half-humorous  courtesy,  — 
a  courtesy  which  never  really  offends  a  true  woman,  al- 
though it  often  piques  her  self-aplomb  by  the  slight  assump- 
tion of  superiority  in  the  humorist.  A  woman  is  quick  to 
recognize  the  fact  that  the  great  and  more  dangerous  pas- 
sions are  always  serious,  and  may  be  excused  if  in  self- 
respect  she  is  often  induced  to  try  if  there  be  not  somewhere 
under  the  skin  of  this  laughing  Mercutio  the  flesh  and 
blood  of  a  Romeo.  Thatcher  was  by  nature  a  defender 
and  protector;  weakness,  and  weakness  alone,  stirred  the 
depths  of  his  tenderness,  —  often,  I  fear,  only  through  its 
half-hnmorous  aspects,  —  and  on  this  plane  he  was  pleased 
to  place  women  and  children.  I  mention  this  fact  for  the 
benefit  of  the  more  youthful  members  of  my  species,  and 
am  satisfied  that  an  unconditional  surrender,  and  the  com- 
plete laying  down  at  the  feet  of  Beauty  of  all  strong 
masculinity,  is  a  cheap  Gallicism  that  is  untranslatable  to 
most  women  worthy  the  winning.  For  a  woman  must 
always  look  up  to  the  man  she  truly  loves,  —  even  if  she 
has  to  go  down  on  her  knees  to  do  it. 

Only  the  masculine  reader  will  infer  from  this  that 
Carmen  was  in  love  with  Thatcher  ;  the  more  critical  and 
analytical  feminine  eye  will  see  nothing  herein  that  might 
not  have  happened  consistently  with  friendship.  For 
Thatcher  was  no  sentimentalist;  he  had  hardly  paid  a 
compliment  to  the  girl,  —  even  in  the  unspoken  but  most 
delicate  form  of  attention.  There  were  days  when  his 
room  door  was  closed  ;  there  were  days  succeeding  these 
blanks  when  he  met  her  as  frankly  and  naturally  as  if  he 
had  seen  her  yesterday.  Indeed,  on  those  days  following 


48  THE   STORY    OF   A    MINE 

his  flight  the  simple-minded  Carmen,  being  aware  —  Heaven 
knows  how  —  that  he  had  not  opened  his  door  during  that 
period,  and  fearing  sickness,  sudden  death,  or  perhaps 
suicide,  by  her  appeals  to  the  landlady  assisted  unwittingly 
in  discovering  his  flight  and  defection.  As  she  was  for  a 
few  moments  as  indignant  as  Mrs.  Plodgitt,  it  is  evident 
that  she  had  but  little  sympathy  with  the  delinquent.  And 
besides,  hitherto  she  had  known  only  Concho  —  her  earliest 
friend  —  and  was  true  to  his  memory,  as  against  all  Ameri- 
canos, whom  she  firmly  believed  to  be  his  murderers. 

So  she  dismissed  the  offer  and  the  man  from  her  mind, 
and  went  back  to  her  painting,  —  a  fancy  portrait  of  the 
good  Padre  Junipero  Serra,  a  great  missionary,  who,  haply 
for  the  integrity  of  his  bones  and  character,  died  some 
hundred  years  before  the  Americans  took  possession  of  Cali- 
fornia. The  picture  was  fair  but  unsalable,  and  she  began 
to  think  seriously  of  sign-painting,  which  was  then  much 
more  popular  and  marketable.  An  unfinished  head  of  San 
Juan  de  Bautista,  artificially  framed  in  clouds,  she  disposed 
of  to  a  prominent  druggist  for  $50,  where  it  did  good  ser- 
vice as  exhibiting  the  effect  of  four  bottles  of  "  Jones' 
Freckle  Eradicator,"  and  in  a  pleasant  and  unobtrusive 
way  revived  the  memory  of  the  saint.  Still  she  felt  weary 
and  was  growing  despondent,  and  had  a  longing  for  the 
good  Sisters  and  the  blameless  lethargy  of  conventual  life, 
and  then  — 

He  came ! 

But  not  as  the  Prince  should  come,  on  a  white  charger, 
to  carry  away  this  cruelly  abused  and  enchanted  damsel. 
He  was  sunburned ;  he  was  bearded  "  like  the  pard  ;  "  he 
was  a  little  careless  as  to  his  dress,  and  preoccupied  in  his 
ways.  But  his  mouth  and  eyes  were  the  same,  and,  when 
he  repeated  in  his  old  frank,  half-mischievous  way  the 
invitation  of  his  letter,  poor  little  Carmen  could  only  hesi- 
tate and  blush. 


WHAT   THE    FAIR    HAD   TO   DO   ABOUT   IT  49 

A  thought  struck  him  and  sent  the  color  to  his  face 
Your  gentleman  born  is  always  as  modest  as  a  woman. 
He  ran  downstairs,  and,  seizing  the  widowed  Plodgitt,  said 
hastily; — 

"  You  're  just  killing  yourself  here.  Take  a  change. 
Come  down  to  Monterey  for  a  day  or  two  with  me,  and 
bring  Miss  De  Haro  with  you  for  company." 

The  old  lady  recognized  the  situation.  Thatcher  was 
now  a  man  of  vast  possibilities.  In  all  maternal  daughters 
of  Eve  there  is  the  slightest  bit  of  the  chaperone  and  match- 
maker. It  is  the  last  way  of  reviving  the  past. 

She  consented,  and  Carmen  De  Haro  could  not  well 
refuse. 

The  ladies  found  the  Blue  Mass  Mills  very  much  as 
Thatcher  had  previously  described  it  to  them, —  "  a  trifle 
rough  and  mannish."  But  he  made  over  to  them  the  one 
tenement  reserved  for  himself  and  slept  with  his  men,  or 
more  likely  under  the  trees.  At  first  Mrs.  Plodgitt  missed 
gas  and  running  water,  and  the  several  conveniences  of 
civilization,  among  which  I  fear  may  be  mentioned  sheets 
and  pillow-cases ;  but  the  balsam  of  the  mountain  air  soothed 
her  neuralgia  and  her  temper.  As  for  Carmen,  she  rioted 
in  the  unlimited  license  of  her  absolute  freedom  from 
conventional  restraint  and  the  indulgence  of  her  childlike 
impulses.  She  scoured  the  ledges  far  and  wide  alone ;  she 
dipped  into  dark  copses  and  scrambled  over  sterile  patches 
of  chimisal,  and  came  back  laden  with  the  spoil  of  buckeye 
blossoms,  manzanita  berries,  and  laurel.  But  she  would 
not  make  a  sketch  of  the  Blue  Mass  Company's  mills  on  a 
Mercator's  projection  ;  something  that  could  be  afterwards 
lithographed  or  chromoed,  with  the  mills  turning  out  tons 
of  quicksilver  through  the  energies  of  a  happy  and  pictur- 
esque assemblage  of  miners, —  even  to  please  her  padrone, 
Don  Royal  Thatcher.  On  the  contrary,  she  made  a  study 
of  the  ruins  of  the  crumbled  and  decayed  Red  Rock  furnace, 


50  THE    STORJ   OF   A   MINE 

with  the  black  mountain  above  it,  and  the  light  of  a  dying 
camp-fire  shining  upon  it  and  the  dull  red  excavations  in 
the  ledge.  But  even  this  did  not  satisfy  her  until  she  had 
made  some  alterations,  and  when,  she  finally  brought  her 
finished  study  to  Don  Royal  she  looked  at  him  a  little  de- 
fiantly. 

Thatcher  admired  honestly,  and  then  criticised  a  little 
humorously  and  dishonestly. 

"  But  could  n't  you,  for  a  consideration,  put  up  a  sign- 
board on  that  rock  with  the  inscription,  '  Road  to  the 
Blue  Mass  Company's  new  mills  to  the  right,'  and  combine 
business  with  art  ?  That  's  the  fault  of  you  geniuses. 
But  what 's  this  blanketed  figure  doing  here,  lying  before 
the  furnace  ?  You  never  saw  one  of  my  miners  there  — 
and  a  Mexican,  too,  by  his  serape  !  " 

"  That,"  quoth  Mistress  Carmen  coolly,  "  was  put  in  to 
fill  up  the  foreground  ;  I  wanted  something  there  to  balance 
the  picture." 

"  But,"  continued  Thatcher,  dropping  into  unconscious 
admiration  again,  "it  's  drawn  to  the  life.  Tell  me, 
Miss  De  Haro,  before  I  ask  the  aid  and  counsel  of  Mrs. 
Plodgitt,  who  is  my  hated  rival  and  your  lay  figure  and 
model  ?  " 

"Oh,"  said  Carmen,  with  a  little  sigh,  "it's  only 
poor  Concho." 

"  And  where  is  Concho  ?  "  (a  little  impatiently). 

"He  'a  dead,  Don  Royal." 

"  Dead  ?  " 

"  Of  a  verity  —  very  dead  —  murdered  here  by  your 
wuntrymen." 

"  I  see  —  and  you  knew  him  ?  " 

"  He  was  my  friend." 

"  Oh !  " 

"Truly." 

il  But "  (wickedly),  "  is  n't  this  a  rather  ghastly  adver- 


WHAT   THE   FAIR   HAD    TO   DO   ABOUT   IT  51 

tisement  —  outside  of  an  illustrated  newspaper  —  of  my 
property  ?  " 

"  Ghastly,  Don  Royal  ?     Look  you,  he  sleeps." 

"  Ay  "  (in  Spanish),  "  as  the  dead." 

Carmen  (crossing  herself  hastily)  :  "  After  the  fashion 
of  the  dead." 

They  were  both  feeling  uncomfortable.  Carmen  was 
shivering.  But,  being  a  woman  and  tactful,  she  recovered 
her  head  first.  "  It  is  a  study  for  myself,  Don  Royal ;  I 
shall  make  to  you  another."  And  she  slipped  away,  as  she 
thought,  out  of  the  subject  and  his  presence. 

But  she  was  mistaken  :  in  the  evening  he  renewed  the 
conversation.  Carmen  began  to  fence,  not  from  cowardice 
or  deceit,  as  the  masculine  reader  would  readily  infer,  but 
from  some  wonderful  feminine  instinct  that  told  her  to  be 
cautious.  But  he  got  from  her  the  fact,  to  him  before 
unknown,  that  she  was  the  niece  of  his  main  antagonist, 
and,  being  a  gentleman,  so  redoubled  his  attentions  and  his 
courtesy  that  Mrs.  Plodgitt  made  up  her  mind  that  it  was  a 
foregone  conclusion,  and  seriously  reflected  as  to  what  she 
should  wear  on  the  momentous  occasion.  But  that  night 
poor  Carmen  cried  herself  to  sleep,  resolving  that  she  would 
hereafter  cast  aside  her  wicked  uncle  for  this  good-hearted 
Americano,  yet  never  once  connected  her  innocent  penman- 
ship with  the  deadly  feud  between  them.  Women  —  the 
best  of  them  —  are  strong  as  to  collateral  facts,  swift  of  de- 
duction, but  vague  as  children  are  to  the  exact  statement 
or  recognition  of  premises.  It  is  hardly  necessary  to  say 
that  Carmen  had  never  thought  of  connecting  any  act  of 
hers  with  the  claims  of  her  uncle,  and  the  circumstance  of 
the  signature  she  had  totally  forgotten. 

The  masculine  reader  will  now  understand  Carmen's  con- 
fusion and  blushes,  and  believe  himself  an  ass  to  have 
thought  them  a  confession  of  original  affection.  The  femi- 
nine reader  will,  by  this  time,  become  satisfied  that  the 


52  THE    STORY   OF   A   MINE 

deceitful  minx's  sole  idea  was  to  gain  the  affections  of 
Thatcher.  And  really  I  don't  know  who  is  right. 

Nevertheless  she  painted  a  sketch  for  Thatcher,  —  which 
now  adorns  the  Company's  office  in  San  Francisco,  —  in 
which  the  property  is  laid  out  in  pleasing  geometrical  lines, 
and  the  rosy  promise  of  the  future  instinct  in  every  toucli 
of  the  brush.  Then,  having  earned  her  "  wage,"  as  she 
believed,  she  became  somewhat  cold  and  shy  to  Thatcher. 
Whereat  that  gentlemen  redoubled  his  attentions,  seeing 
only  in  her  presence  a  certain  meprise,  which  concerned  her 
more  than  himself.  The  niece  of  his  enemy  meant  nothing 
more  to  him  than  an  interesting  girl,  —  to  be  protected 
always,  —  to  be  feared  never.  But  even  suspicion  may  be 
insidiously  placed  in  noble  minds. 

Mistress  Plodgitt,  thus  early  estopped  of  match-making, 
of  course  put  the  blame  on  her  own  sex,  and  went  over  to 
the  stronger  side,  —  the  man's. 

"  It 's  a  great  pity  gals  should  be  so  curious,"  she  said, 
sotto  voce,  to  Thatcher,  when  Carmen  was  in  one  of  her 
sullen  moods.  "  Yet  I  s'pose  it 's  in  her  blood.  Them 
Spaniards  is  always  revengeful,  —  like  the  Eyetalians." 

Thatcher  honestly  looked  his  surprise. 

"Why,  don't  you  see,  she  's  thinking  how  all  these  lands 
might  have  been  her  uncle's  but  for  you.  And,  instead  of 
trying  to  be  sweet  and  "  —  Here  she  stopped  to  cough. 

"  Good  God  !  "  said  Thatcher  in  great  concern,  "  I  never 
thought  of  that."  He  stopped  for  a  moment  and  then 
added  with  decision,  "  I  can't  believe  it ;  it  is  n't  like  her." 

Mrs.  P.  was  piqued.  She  walked  away,  delivering,  how- 
ever, this  Parthian  arrow  :  "  Well,  I  hope  't  ain't  nothing 
'worse." 

Thatcher  chuckled,  then  felt  uneasy.  When  he  next  met 
Carmen  she  found  his  gray  eyes  fixed  on  hers  with  a  curi- 
ous, half-inquisitorial  look  she  had  never  noticed  before. 
This  only  added  fuel  to  the  fire.  Forgetting  their  relations 


WHAT   THE   FAIR   HAD   TO   DO   ABOUT   IT  53 

of  host  and  guest,  she  was  absolutely  rude.  Thatcher  was 
quiet  bxit  watchful  ;  got  the  Plodgitt  to  bed  early,  and. 
under  cover  of  showing  a  moonlight  view  of  the  "  Lost 
Chance  Mill,"  decoyed  Carmen  out  of  ear-shot  as  far  as  the 
dismantled  furnace. 

"  What  is  the  matter,  Miss  De  Haro  ?  have  I  offended 
you  ?  " 

Miss  Carmen  was  not  aware  that  anything  was  the 
matter.  If  Don  Royal  preferred  old  friends,  whose  loyalty 
of  course  he  knew,  who  were  above  speaking  ill  against  a 
gentleman  in  his  adversity  —  (0  Carmen  !  fie  !)  if  he  pre- 
ferred their  company  to  later  friends  —  why  —  (the  mascu- 
line reader  will  observe  this  tremendous  climax  and  tremble) 
—  why  she  did  n't  know  why  he  should  blame  her. 

They  turned  and  faced  each  other.  The  conditions  for 
a  perfect  misunderstanding  could  not  have  been  better  ar- 
ranged between  two  people.  Thatcher  was  a  masculine  rea- 
soner ;  Carmen,  a  feminine  feeler,  —  if  I  may  be  pardoned 
the  expression.  Thatcher  wanted  to  get  at  certain  facts, 
and  argue  therefrom.  Carmen  wanted  to  get  at  certain 
feelings,  and  then  fit  the  facts  to  them. 

"  But  I  am  not  blaming  you,  Miss  Carmen,"  he  said 
gravely.  u  It  was  stupid  in  me  to  confront  you  here  with 
the  property  claimed  by  your  uncle  and  occupied  by  me,  but 
it  was  a  mistake,  — no  !  "  he  added  hastily,  —  "  it  was  not 
a  mistake.  You  knew  it  and  I  did  n't.  You  overlooked  it 
before  you  came,  and  I  was  too  glad  to  overlook  it  after 
you  were  here." 

"  Of  course,"  said  Carmen,  pettishly,  "  I  am  the  only 
one  to  be  blamed.  It 's  like  you  men  !  "  (Mem.  She  was 
just  fifteen,  and  uttered  this  awful  resume  of  experience 
just  as  if  it  hadn't  been  taught  to  her  in  her  cradle.) 

Feminine  generalities  always  stagger  a  man.  Thatcher 
said  nothing.  Carmen  became  more  enraged. 

"  Why  did  you  want  to  take  Uncle  Victor's  property, 
then  ?  "  she  asked  triumphantly. 


54  THE   STORY   OF   A   MINE 

"  I  don't  know  that  it  is  your  uncle's  property." 

"  You  —  don't  —  know  ?  Have  you  seen  the  application 
with  Governor  Micheltorena's  indorsement  ?  Have  you 
heard  the  witnesses  ?  "  she  said  passionately. 

"  Signatures  may  be  forged  and  witnesses  lie,"  said 
Thatcher,  quietly. 

"  What  is  it  you  call  «  forged  '  ?  " 

Thatcher  instantly  recalled  the  fact  that  the  Spanish 
language  held  no  synonyme  for  "  forgery."  The  act  was 
apparently  an  invention  of  El  Diable  Americano. '  So  he 
said,  with  a  slight  smile  in  his  kindly  eyes  :  — 

"  Anybody  wicked  enough  and  dexterous  enough  can 
imitate  another's  handwriting.  When  this  is  used  to  benefit 
fraud  we  call  it  '  forgery.'  I  beg  your  pardon  —  Miss  De 
Haro,  Miss  Carmen  —  what  is  the  matter  ?  " 

She  had  suddenly  lapsed  against  a  tree,  quite  helpless, 
nerveless,  and  with  staring  eyes  fixed  on  his.  As  yet  an 
embryo  woman,  inexperienced  and  ignorant,  the  sex's 
instinct  was  potential ;  she  had  in  one  plunge  fathomed  all 
that  his  reason  had  been  years  groping  for. 

Thatcher  saw  only  that  she  was  pained,  that  she  was 
helpless  ;  that  was  enough.  "  It  is  possible  that  your  uncle 
may  have  been  deceived,"  he. began;  "many  honest  men 
have  been  fooled  by  clever  but  deceitful  tricksters,  men  and 
women  "  — 

"  Stop  !  Madre  de  Dios  !     WILL  YOU  STOP  ?  " 

Thatcher  for  an  instant  recoiled  from  the  flashing  eyes 
and  white  face  of  the  little  figure  that  had,  with  menacing 
and  clenched  baby  fingers,  strode  to  his  side.  He  stopped. 

"  Where  is  this  application  —  this  forgery  ?  "  she  asked. 
"  Show  it  to  me  !  " 

Thatcher  felt  relieved,  and  smiled  the  superior  smile  of 
our  sex  over  feminine  ignorance.  "You  could  hardly 
expect  me  to  be  trusted  with  your  uncle's  vouchers.  His 
papers,  of  course,  are  in  the  hands  of  his  counsel." 


WHEN  CAN  1    LEAVE  THIS  PLACE? 


WHAT   THE   FAIE   HAD   TO   DO   ABOUT   IT  5"> 

«  And  when  can  I  leave  this  place  ?  "  she  asked,  pas- 
sionately. 

"  If  you  consult  my  wishes  you  will  stay,  if  only  long 
enough  to  forgive  me.  But  if  I  have  offended  you,  unknow- 
ingly, and  you  are  implacable  "  — 

"  I  can  go  to-morrow,  at  sunrise,  if  I  like  ?  " 
"  As  you  will,"  returned  Thatcher,  gravely. 
"  Gracias,  Seiior." 

They  walked  slowly  back  to  the  house,  —  Thatcher  with 
a  masculine  sense  of  being  unreasonably  afflicted,  Carmen 
with  a  woman's  instinct  of  being  hopelessly  crushed.  No 
word  was  spoken  until  they  reached  the  door.  Then 
Carmen  suddenly,  in  her  old  impulsive  way,  and  in  a 
childlike  treble,  sang  out  merrily,  "Good-night,  0  Don 
Royal,  and  pleasant  dreams.  Hasta  Manana." 

Thatcher  stood  dumb  and  astonished  at  this  capricious 
girl.  She  saw  his  mystification  instantly.  "  It  is  for  the 
old  Cat  !  "  she  whispered,  jerking  her  thumb  over  her 
shoulder  in  the  direction  of  the  sleeping  Mrs.  P.  "  Good- 
night —  go ! " 

He  went  to  give  orders  for  a  peon  to  attend  the  ladies 
and  their  equipage  the  next  day.  He  awoke  to  find  Miss 
De  Haro  gone,  with  her  escort,  towards  Monterey.  And 
without  the  Plodgitt. 

He  could  not  conceal  his  surprise  from  the  latter  lady. 
She,  left  alone,  —  a  not  altogether  unavailable  victim  to  the 
wiles  of  our  sex,  —  was  embarrassed.  But  not  so  much  that 
she  could  not  say  to  Thatcher  :  "»I  told  you  so,  —gone  to 
her  uncle  ...  To  tell  him  all  !  " 

"  All  ?  D— n  it !  what  can  she  tell  him  ?  "  roared 
Thatcher,  stung  out  of  his  self-control. 

"Nothing,  I  hope,  that  she  should  not,"  said  Mrs.  P., 
and  chastely  retired. 

She  was  right.  Miss  Carmen  posted  to  Monterey,  run- 
ning her  horse  nearly  off  its  legs  to  ,do  it,  and  then  sent 


56  THE    STORY   OF   A   MINE 

back  her  beast  and  escort,  saying  she  would  rejoin  Mrs. 
Plodgitt  by  steamer  at  San  Francisco.  Then  she  went 
boldly  to  the  law  office  of  Saponaceous  Wood,  District  At- 
torney and  whilom  solicitor  of  her  uncle. 

With  the  majority  of  masculine  Monterey,  Miss  Carmen 
was  known  and  respectfully  admired,  despite  the  infelix 
reputation  of  her  kinsman.  Mr.  Wood  was  glad  to  see  her, 
and  awkwardly  gallant.  Miss  Carmen  was  cool  and  busi- 
ness-like ;  she  had  come  from  her  uncle  to  "  regard  "  the 
papers  in  the  Red  Rock  Rancho  case.  They  were  instantly 
produced.  Carmen  turned  to  the  application  for  the  grant. 
Her  cheek  paled  slightly.  With  her  clear  memory  and 
wonderful  fidelity  of  perception,  she  could  not  be  mistaken. 
The  signature  of  Micheltorena  was  in  her  own  hand- 
writing ! 

Yet  she  looked  up  to  the  lawyer  with  a  smile  :  "  May 
I  take  these  papers  for  an  hour  to  my  uncle  ?  " 

Even  an  older  and  better  man  than  the  District  Attorney 
could  not  have  resisted  those  drooping  lids  and  that  gentle 
voice. 

"  Certainly." 

"  I  will  return  them  in  an  hour." 

She  was  as  good  as  her  word,  and  within  the  hour 
dropped  the  papers  and  a  little  courtesy  to  her  uncle's  legal 
advocate,  and  that  night  took  the  steamer  to  San  Fran- 
cisco. 

The  next  morning  Victor  Garcia,  a  little  the  worse  for 
the  previous  night's  dissipation,  reeled  into  Wood's  office. 
"I  have  fears  for  my  niece,  Carmen.  She  is  with  the 
enemy,"  he  said  thickly.  "  Look  you  at  this." 

It  was  an  anonymous  letter  (in  Mrs.  Plodgitt's  own  awk- 
ward fist),  advising  him  of  the  fact  that  his  niece  was 
bought  by  the  enemy,  and  cautioning  him  against  her. 

"  Impossible,"  said  the  lawyer,  "  it  was  only  last  week 
she  sent  thee 


WHAT   THE   FAIR   HAD   TO   DO   ABOUT  IT  57 

Victor  blushed,  even  through  his  ensanguined  cheeks, 
and  made  an  impatient  gesture  with  his  hand. 

"  Besides,"  added  the  lawyer  coolly,  "  she  has  been  here 
to  examine  the  papers  at  thy  request,  and  returned  them  of 
yesterday." 

Victor  gasped  —  "  And  —  you  —  you  —  gave  them  to 
her  ?  " 

"  Of  course  !  " 

"All  ?     Even  the  application  and  the  signature  ?  " 

"  Certainly  !  —  you  sent  her." 

"Sent  her?  The  devil's  own  daughter!"  shrieked 
Garcia.  "  No  !  A  hundred  million  times,  no  !  Quick, 
before  it  is  too  late.  Give  to  me  the  papers." 

Mr.  Wood  reproduced  the  file.  Garcia  ran  over  it  with 
trembling  fingers,  until  at  last  he  clutched  the  fateful  docu- 
ment. Not  content  with  opening  it  and  glancing  at  its 
text  and  signature,  he  took  it  to  the  window. 

"  It  is  the  same,"  he  muttered  with  a  sigh  of  relief. 

"  Of  course  it  is,"  said  Mr.  Wood  sharply.  "  The  pa- 
pers are  all  there.  You  're  a  fool,  Victor  Garcia  !  " 

And  so  he  was.  And,  for  the  matter  of  that,  so  was  Mr. 
Saponaceous  WTood,  of  counsel. 

Meanwhile  Miss  De  Haro  returned  to  San  Francisco  and 
resumed  her  work.  A  day  or  two  later  she  was  joined  by 
her  landlady.  Mrs.  P.  had  too  large  a  nature  to  permit  an 
anonymous  letter,  written  by  her  own  hand,  to  stand  be- 
tween her  and  her  demeanor  to  her  little  lodger.  So  she 
coddled  her  and  flattered  her,  and  depicted  in  slightly 
exaggerated  colors  the  grief  of  Don  Royal  at  her  sudden 
departure.  All  of  which  Miss  Carmen  received  in  a  de- 
mure, kitten-like  way,  but  still  kept  quietly  at  her  work. 
In  due  time  Don  Royal's  order  was  completed ;  still  she 
had  leisure  and  inclination  enough  to  add  certain  touches  to 
her  ghastly  sketch  of  the  crumbling  furnace. 

Nevertheless,   as   Don   Royal    did   not   return,   through 


58  THE   STORY   OF  A  MINE 

excess  of  business,  Mrs.  Plodgitt  turned  an  honest  pennj 
by  letting  his  room,  temporarily,  to  two  quiet  Mexicans, 
who,  but  for  a  beastly  habit  of  cigarrito-smoking  which 
tainted  the  whole  house,  were  fair  enough  lodgers.  If 
they  failed  in  making  the  acquaintance  of  this  fair  country- 
woman, Miss  De  Haro,  it  was  through  that  lady's  preoccu- 
pation in  her  over-work,  and  not  through  their  ostentatious 
endeavors. 

"  Miss  De  Haro  is  peculiar,"  explained  the  politic  Mrs. 
P.  to  her  guests ;  "  she  makes  no  acquaintances,  which  I 
consider  bad  for  her  business.  If  it  had  not  been  for  me 
she  would  not  have  known  Royal  Thatcher,  the  great 
quicksilver  miner,  —  and  had  his  order  for  a  picture  of  his 
mine  !  " 

The  two  foreign  gentlemen  exchanged  glances.  One 
said,  "  Ah,  God  !  this  is  bad,"  and  the  other,  "  It  is  not 
possible  ! "  and  then,  when  the  landlady's  back  was  turned, 
introduced  themselves  with  a  skeleton  key  into  the  then 
vacant  bedroom  and  studio  of  their  fair  countrywoman, 
who  was  absent  sketching.  "  Thou  observest,"  said  Mr. 
Pedro,  refugee,  to  Miguel,  ex-ecclesiastic,  "  that  this  Ameri- 
cano is  all-powerful,  and  that  this  Victor,  drunkard  as  he 
is,  is  right  in  his  suspicions." 

"  Of  a  verity,  yes,"  replied  Miguel,  "  thou  dost  remember 
it  was  Jovita  Castro  who,  for  her  Americano  lover,  betrayed 
the  Sobriente  claim.  It  is  only  with  us,  my  Pedro,  that 
Mexican  spirit,  the  real  God  and  Liberty,  yet  lives ! " 

They  shook  hands  nobly  and  with  sentimental  fervor, 
and  then  went  to  work,  i.  e.  the  rummaging  over  of  the 
trunks,  drawers,  and  portmanteaus  of  the  poor  little  painter, 
Carmen  De  Haro,  and  even  ripped  up  the  mattress  of  her 
virginal  cot.  But  they  found  not  what  they  sought. 

"  What  is  that  yonder  on  the  easel,  covered  with  a 
cloth  ?  "  said  Miguel ;  "  it  is  a  trick  of  these  artists  to  put 
their  valuables  together." 


WHO   LOBBIED   FOR   IT  59 

Pedro  strode  to  the  easel  and  tore  away  the  muslin  cur- 
tain that  veiled  it ;  then  uttered  a  shriek  that  appalled  his 
comrade  and  brought  him  to  his  side. 

"  In  the  name  of  God,"  said  Miguel  hastily,  "  are  you 
trying  to  alarm  the  house  ?  " 

The  ex-vaquero  was  trembling  like  a  child.  "  Look/' 
he  said  hoarsely,  "  look,  do  you  see  ?  It  is  the  hand  of 
God,"  and  fainted  on  the  floor ! 

Miguel  looked.  It  was  Carmen's  partly  finished  sketch 
of  the  deserted  furnace.  The  figure  of  Concho,  thrown  out 
strongly  by  the  camp-fire,  occupied  the  left  foreground. 
But  to  balance  her  picture  she  had  evidently  been  obliged 
to  introduce  another,  —  the  face  and  figure  of  Pedro,  on 
all-fours,  creeping  toward  the  sleeping  man. 


WHO    LOBBIED    FOB    IT 

It  was  a  midsummer's  day  in  Washington.  Eyen  at 
early  morning,  while  the  sun  was  yet  level  with  the  faces  of 
pedestrians  in  its  broad,  shadeless  avenues,  it  was  insuffer- 
ably hot.  Later  the  avenues  themselves  shone  like  the 
diverging  rays  of  another  sun,  —  the  Capitol,  —  a  thing  to 
be  feared  by  the  naked  eye.  Later  yet  it  grew  hotter,  and 
then  a  mist  arose  from  the  Potomac,  and  blotted  out  the 
blazing  arch  above,  and  presently  piled  up  along  the  horizon 
delusive  thunder-clouds,  that  spent  their  strength  and  sub- 
stance elsewhere  and  left  it  hotter  than  before.  Towards 
evening  the  sun  came  out  invigorated,  having  cleared  the 
heavenly  brow  of  perspiration,  but  leaving  its  fever  un- 
abated. 

The  city  was  deserted.  The  few  who  remained  appar- 
ently buried  themselves  from  the  garish  light  of  day  in  some 
iim  cloistered  recess  of  shop,  hotel,  or  restaurant ;  and  the 


60  THE   STORY   OF   A  MINE 

perspiring  stranger,  dazed  by  the  outer  glare,  who  broke  in 
upon  their  quiet,  sequestered  repose,  confronted  collarless 
and  coatless  spectres  of  the  past  with  fans  in  their  hands, 
who,  after  dreamily  going  through  some  perfunctory  busi- 
ness, immediately  retired  to  sleep  after  the  stranger  had 
gone.  Congressmen  and  Senators  had  long  since  returned 
to  their  several  constituencies  with  the  various  information 
that  the  country  was  going  to  ruin,  or  that  the  outlook 
never  was  more  hopeful  and  cheering,  as  the  tastes  of  their 
constituency  indicated.  A  few  Cabinet  officers  still  lin- 
gered, having  by  this  time  become  convinced  that  they  could 
do  nothing  their  own  way,  or  indeed  in  any  way  but  the  old 
way,  and  getting  gloomily  resigned  to  their  situation.  A 
body  of  learned,  cultivated  men,  representing  the  highest 
legal  tribunal  in  the  land,  still  lingered  in  a  vague  idea  of 
earning  the  scant  salary  bestowed  upon  them  by  the  economi- 
cal founders  of  the  Government,  and  listened  patiently  to 
the  arguments  of  Counsel,  whose  fees  for  advocacy  of  claims 
before  them  would  have  paid  the  life  income  of  half  the 
bench.  There  was  Mr.  Attorney-General  and  his  assistants 
still  protecting  the  Government's  millions  from  rapacious 
hands,  and  drawing  the  yearly  public  pittance  that  their 
wealthier  private  antagonists  would  have  scarce  given  as 
a  retainer  to  their  junior  counsel ;  and  the  little  standing 
army  of  departmental  employees,  the  helpless  victims  of  the 
most  senseless  and  idiotic  form  of  discipline  the  world  has 
known — a  discipline  so  made  up  of  Caprice,  Expediency, 
Cowardice,  and  Tyranny  that  its  reform  meant  Revolution, 
not  to  be  tolerated  by  legislators  and  lawgivers,  or  a  Des- 
potism in  which  half  a  dozen  accidentally  chosen  men  inter- 
preted their  prejudices  or  preferences  as 'being  that  Reform. 
Administration  after  Administration  and  Party  after  Party 
had  persisted  in  their  desperate  attempts  to  fit  the  youth- 
ful colonial  garments,  made  by  our  fathers  after  bygone 
fashion,  over  the  expanded  limits  and  generous  outline  of  a 


WHO   LOBBIED   FOR   IT  61 

matured  nation.  There  were  patches  here  and  there,  there 
were  grievous  rents  and  holes  here  and  there,  there  were 
ludicrous  and  painful  exposures  of  growing  limbs  everywhere, 
and  the  Party  in  Power  and  the  Party  out  of  Power  could 
do  nothing  hut  mend  and  patch,  and  revamp  and  cleanse 
and  scour,  and  occasionally,  in  the  wildness  of  despair,  sug- 
gest even  the  cutting  off  the  rebellious  limbs  that  persisted 
in  growing  beyond  the  swaddling  clothes  of  its  infancy. 

It  was  a  capital  of  Contradictions  and  Inconsistences.  At 
one  end  of  the  Avenue  sat  the  responsible  High  Keeper 
of  the  Military  Honor,  Valor,  and  Warlike  Prestige  of  a 
Great  Nation,  without  the  power  to  pay  his  own  troops 
their  legal  dues  until  some  selfish  quarrel  between  Party 
and  Party  was  settled.  Hard  by  sat  another  secretary, 
whose  established  functions  seemed  to  be  the  misrepresen- 
tation of  the  nation  abroad  by  the  least  characteristic  of  its 
classes  —  the  politicians  —  and  only  then  when  they  had 
been  defeated  as  politicians,  and  when  their  constituents  had 
declared  them  no  longer  worthy  to  be  even  their  represen- 
tatives. This  National  Absurdity  was  only  equaled  by 
another,  wherein  an  Ex-Politician  was  for  four  years  ex- 
pected to  uphold  the  honor  of  a  flag  of  a  great  nation  over 
an  ocean  he  had  never  tempted,  with  a  discipline  the  rudi- 
ments of  which  he  could  scarcely  acquire  before  he  was  re- 
moved, or  his  term  of  office  expired,  receiving  his  orders 
from  a  superior  officer  as  ignorant  of  his  special  duties  as 
himself,  and  subjected  to  the  revision  of  a  Congress  cogni- 
zant of  him  only  as  a  politician.  At  the  further  end  of  the 
Avenue  was  another  department,  so  vast  in  its  extent  and 
so  varied  in  its  functions  that  few  of  the  really  Great  Prac- 
tical Workers  of  the  land  would  have  accepted  its  responsi- 
bility for  ten  times  its  salary,  but  which  the  most  perfect 
Constitution  in  the  World  handed  over  to  men  who  were 
obliged  to  make  it  a  stepping-stone  to  future  preferment. 
There  was  another  department,  more  suggestive  of  its  finan- 


62  THE   STORY   OF   A   MINE 

cial  functions  from  the  occasional  extravagances  or  econo- 
mies exhibited  in  its  pay-rolls,  —  successive  Congresses 
having  taken  other  matters  out  of  its  hands,  —  presided  over 
by  an  official  who  bore  the  title  and  responsibility  of  the 
Custodian  and  Disburser  of  the  Nation's  Purse,  and  re- 
ceived a  salary  that  a  bank  president  would  have  sniffed  at. 
For  it  was  part  of  this  Constitutional  Inconsistency  and  Ad- 
ministrative Absurdity  that  in  the  matter  of  Honor,  Justice, 
Fidelity  to  Trust,  and  even  Business  Integrity,  the  official 
was  always  expected  to  be  the  superior  of  the  Government 
he  represented.  Yet  the  crowning  Inconsistency  was  that, 
from  time  to  time,  it  was  submitted  to  the  sovereign  people 
to  declare  if  these  various  Inconsistencies  were  not  really 
the  perfect  expression  of  the  most  perfect  Government  the 
world  had  known.  And  it  is  to  be  recorded  that  the  unani- 
mous voices  of  Representative,  Orator,  and  Unfettered 
Poetry  were  that  it  was. 

Even  the  public  press  lent  itself  to  the  Great  Inconsis- 
tency. It  was  as  clear  as  crystal  to  the  journal  on  one 
side  of  the  Avenue  that  the  country  was  going  to  the  dogs 
unless  the  spirit  of  the  fathers  once  more  reanimated  the 
public  ;  it  was  equally  clear  to  the  journal  on  the  other 
side  of  the  Avenue  that  only  a  rigid  adherence  to  the  letter 
of  the  fathers  would  save  the  nation  from  decline.  It  was 
obvious  to  the  first-named  journal  that  the  "  letter  "  meant 
Government  patronage  to  the  other  journal  ;  it  was  potent 
to  that  journal  that  the  "  shekels  "  of  Senator  X.  really 
miniated  the  spirit  of  the  fathers.  Yet  all  agreed  it  was  a 
great  and  good  and  perfect  government,  —  subject  only  to 
the  predatory  incursions  of  a  hydra-headed  monster  known 
as  a  "  Ring."  The  Ring's  origin  was  wrapped  in  secrecy, 
its  fecundity  was  alarming  ;  but  although  its  rapacity  was 
preternatural,  its  digestion  was  perfect  and  easy.  It  cir- 
cumvolved  all  affairs  in  an  atmosphere  of  mystery ;  it 
clouded  all  things  with  the  dust  and  ashes  of  distrust.  All 


WHO   LOBBIED   FOR  IT  63 

disappointment  of  place,  of  avarice,  of  incompetency,  or 
ambition  was  clearly  attributable  to  it.  It  even  per- 
meated private  and  social  life :  there  were  Rings  in  our 
kitchen  and  household  service  ;  in  our  public  schools,  that 
kept  the  active  intelligences  of  our  children  passive  ;  there 
were  Rings  of  engaging,  handsome,  dissolute  young  fellows, 
who  kept  us  moral  but  unengaging  seniors  from  the  favors 
of  the  Fair ;  there  were  subtle,  conspiring  Rings  among 
our  creditors,  which  sent  us  into  bankruptcy  and  restricted 
our  credit.  In  fact,  it  would  not  be  hazardous  to  say  that 
all  that  was  calamitous  in  public  and  private  experience 
was  clearly  traceable  to  that  combination  of  power  in  a 
minority  over  weakness  in  a  majority  —  known  as  a 
"Ring." 

Haply  there  was  a  body  of  demigods,  as  yet  uninvoked, 
who  should  speedily  settle  all  that.  When  Smith  of 
Minnesota,  Robinson  of  Vermont,  and  Jones  of  Georgia 
returned  to  Congress  from  those  rural  seclusions,  so  potent 
with  information  and  so  freed  from  local  prejudices,  it  was 
understood,  vaguely,  that  great  things  would  be  done. 
This  was  always  understood.  There  itever  was  a  time 
in  the  history  of  American  politics  when,  to  use  the 
expression  of  the  journals  before  alluded  to,  "  the  present 
session  of  Congress "  did  not  "  bid  fair  to  be  the  most 
momentous  in  our  history,"  and  did  not,  as  far  as  the  facts 
go,  leave  a  vast  amount  of  unfinished  important  business 
lying  hopelessly  upon  its  desks,  having  "  bolted  "  the  rest 
as  rashly  and  with  as  little  regard  to  digestion  or  assimi- 
lation as  the  American  traveler  has  for  his  railwa}r  re- 
freshment. 

In  this  capital,  on  this  languid  midsummer  day,  in  an 
upper  room  of  one  of  its  second-rate  hotels,  the  Honor- 
able Mr.  Pratt  C.  Gashwiler  sat  at  his  writing-table.  There 
are  certain  large,  fleshy  men  with  whom  the  omission  of 
•  even  a  necktie  or  collar  has  all  the  effect  of  an  indecent 


64  THE   STORY   OF   A   MINE 

exposure.  The  Honorable  Mr.  Gashwiler,  in  his  trousers 
and  shirt,  was  a  sight  to  be  avoided  by  the  modest  eye. 
There  were  such  palpable  suggestions  of  vast  extents  of 
unctuous  flesh  in  the  slight  glimpse  offered  by  his  open 
throat,  that  his  dishabille  should  have  been  as  private  as 
his  business.  Nevertheless,  when  there  was  a  knock  at 
his  door  he  unhesitatingly  said,  "  Come  in  !  "  —  pushing 
away  a  goblet  crowned  with  a  certain  aromatic  herb  with 
his  right  hand,  while  he  drew  towards  him  with  his  left  a 
few  proof-slips  of  his  forthcoming  speech.  The  Gashwiler 
brow  became,  as  it  were,  intelligently  abstracted. 

The  intruder  regarded  Gashwiler  with  a  glance  of  familiar 
recognition  from  his  right  eye,  while  his  left  took  in  a  rapid 
survey  of  the  papers  on  the  table,  and  gleamed  sardoni- 
cally. 

"  You  are  at  work,  I  see,"  he  said  apologetically. 

"  Yes,"  replied  the  Congressman,  with  an  air  of  perfunc- 
tory weariness  —  "  one  of  my  speeches.  Those  d — d  print- 
ers make  such  a  mess  of  it,  I  suppose  I  don't  write  a  very 
fine  hand." 

If  the  gifted  Gashwiler  had  added  that  he  did  not  write 
a  very  intelligent  hand,  or  a  very  grammatical  hand,  and 
that  his  spelling  was  faulty,  he  would  have  been  truthful, 
although  the  copy  and  proof  before  him  might  not  have 
borne  him  out.  The  near  fact  was,  that  the  speech  was 
composed  and  written  by  one  Expectant  Dobbs,  a  poor 
retainer  of  Gashwiler,  and  the  honorable  member's  labor 
as  a  proof-reader  was  confined  to  the  introduction  of  such 
words  as  "Anarchy,"  "Oligarchy,"  "Satrap,"  "Palla- 
dium," and  "  Argus-eyed,"  in  the  proof,  with  little  rele- 
vancy as  to  position  or  place,  and  no  perceptible  effect  as  to 
argument. 

The  stranger  saw  all  this  with  his  wicked  left  eye,  but 
continued  to  beam  mildly  with  his  right.  Removing  the 
coat  and  waistcoat  of  Gashwiler  from  a  chair,  he  drew  it 


WHO   LOBBIED   FOR   IT  65 

towards  the  table,  pushing  aside  a  portly,  loud-ticking  watch 

—  the  very  image  of  Gashwiler  —  that  lay  beside  him,  and 
resting  his  elbows  on  the  proofs,  said  :  — 

"  Well  ?  " 

"  Have  you  anything  new  ?  "  asked  the  Parliamentary 
Gashwiler. 

"  Much  !  a  woman  !  "  replied  the  stranger. 

The  astute  Gashwiler,  waiting  further  information,  con- 
cluded to  receive  this  fact  gayly  and  gallantly.  "  A 
woman  ?  —  my  dear  Mr.  Wiles  —  of  course  !  The  dear 
creatures,"  he  continued,  with  a  fat,  offensive  chuckle, 
"  somehow  are  always  making  their  charming  presence  felt. 
Ha  !  ha !  A  man,  sir,  in  public  life  becomes  accustomed 
to  that  sort  of  thing,  and  knows  when  he  must  be  agreeable 

—  agreeable,  sir,  but  firm !      I  've   had  my  experience,  sir 

—  my    own   experience,"  —  and   the   Congressman    leaned 
back  in  his  chair,  not  unlike   a  robust  St.  Anthony,  who 
had  withstood  one  temptation  to  thrive  on  another. 

"  Yes,"  said  Wiles  impatiently,  "  but  d — n  it,  she  's  on 
the  other  side." 

"  The  other  side  !  "  repeated  Gashwiler  vacantly. 

"  Yes.     She  's  a  niece  of  Garcia's.     A  little  she-devil." 

"  But  Garcia  is  on  our  side,"  rejoined  Gashwiler. 

"  Yes  ;   but  she  is  bought  by  the  Ring." 

"  A  woman,"  sneered  Mr.  Gashwiler ;  "  what  can  she  do 
with  men  who  won't  be  made  fools  of  ?  Is  she  so  hand- 
some ?  " 

"  I  never  saw  any  great  beauty  in  her,"  said  Wiles  shortly, 
"  although  they  say  that  she  's  rather  caught  that  d — d 
Thatcher,  in  spite  of  his  coldness.  At  any  rate  she  is  his 
protegee.  But  she  is  n't  the  sort  you  're  thinking  of,  Gash- 
wiler. They  say  she  knows  or  pretends  to  know  something 
about  the  grant.  She  may  have  got  hold  of  some  of  her 
uncle's  papers.  Those  Greasers  were  always  d — d  fools, 
and  if  he  did  anything  foolish,  like  as  not  he  bungled  or 


66  THE   STORY   OF  A   MINE 

did  n't  cover  up  his  tracks.  And  with  his  knowledge  and 
facilities,  too  !  Why  if  I  'd  "  —  but  here  Mr.  Wiles  stopped 
to  sigh  over  the  inequality  of  fortune  that  wasted  oppor- 
tunities on  the  less  skillful  scamp. 

Mr.  Gashwiler  became  dignified.  "  She  can  do  nothing 
with  us,"  he  said  potentially. 

Wiles  turned  his  wicked  eye  on  him.  "  Manuel  and 
Miguel,  who  sold  out  to  our  man,  are  afraid  of  her.  They 
were  our  witnesses.  I  verily  believe. they  'd  take  back  every- 
thing if  she  got  after  them.  And  as  for  Pedro,  he  thinks 
she  holds  the  power  of  life  and  death  over  him." 

"  Pedro !  Life  and  death  —  what 's  all  this  ?  "  said  the 
astonished  Gashwiler. 

Wiles  saw  his  blunder,  but  saw  also  that  he  had  gone  too 
far  to  stop.  "Pedro,"  he  said,  "was  strongly  suspected  of 
having  murdered  Concho,  one  of  the  original  locators." 

Mr.  Gashwiler  turned  white  as  a  sheet,  and  then  flushed 
again  into  an  apoplectic  glow.  "  Do  you  dare  to  say,"  he 
began  as  soon  as  he  could  find  his  tongue  and  his  legs,  —  for 
in  the  exercise  of  his  congressional  functions  these  extreme 
members  supported  each  other,  —  "  do  you  mean  to  say,"  he 
stammered  in  rising  rage,  "  that  you  have  dared  to  deceive 
an  American  lawgiver  into  legislating  upon  a  measure  con- 
nected with  a  capital  offense  ?  Do  I  understand  you  to 
say,  sir,  that  murder  stands  upon  the  record  —  stands  upon 
the  record,  sir  —  of  this  cause  to  which,  as  a  representative 
of  Remus,  I  have  lent  my  official  aid  ?  Do  you  mean  to 
say  that  you  have  deceived  my  constituency,  whose  sacred 
trust  I  hold,  in  inveigling  me  to  hiding  a  crime  from  the 
Argus  eyes  of  Justice  ? "  And  Mr.  Gashwiler  looked  to- 
wards the  bell-pull  as  if  about  to  summon  a  servant  to  wit- 
ness this  outrage  against  the  established  judiciary. 

"  The  murder,  if  it  was  a  murder,  took  place  before 
Garcia  entered  upon  this  claim  or  had  a  footing  in  this 
court,"  returned  Wiles  blandly,  "  and  is  no  part  of  the 
record." 


WHO   LOBBIED   FOR   IT  67 

"  You  are  sure  it  is  not  spread  upon  the  record  ?  " 

"  I  am.     You  can  judge  for  yourself." 

Mr.  Gashwiler  walked  to  the  window,  returned  to  the 
table,  finished  his  liquor  in  a  single  gulp,  and  then,  with  a 
slight  resumption  of  dignity,  said  :  — 

"That  alters  the  case." 

Wiles  glanced  with  his  left  eye  at  the  Congressman.  The 
right  placidly  looked  out  of  the  window.  Presently  he  said 
quietly,  "I  've  brought  you  the  certificates  of  stock  ;  do  you 
wish  them  made  out  in  your  own  name  ?  " 

Mr.  Gashwiler  tried  hard  to  look  as  if  he  were  trying  to 
recall  the  meaning  of  Wiles'  words.  "  Oh !  —  ah  !  —  umph  ! 
—  let  me  see  —  Oh,  yes,  the  certificates  —  certainly  !  Of 
course  you  will  make  them  out  in  the  name  of  my  secretary, 
Mr.  Expectant  Dobbs.  They  will  perhaps  repay  him  for 
the  extra  clerical  labor  required  in  the  prosecution  of  your 
claim.  He  is  a  worthy  young  man.  Although  not  a  public 
officer,  yet  he  is  so  near  to  me  that  perhaps  I  am  wrong  in 
permitting  him  to  accept  a  fee  for  private  interests.  An 
American  representative  cannot  be  too  cautious,  Mr.  Wiles. 
Perhaps  you  had  better  have  also  a  blank  transfer.  The 
stock  is,  I  understand,  yet  in  the  future.  Mr.  Dobbs, 
though  talented  and  praiseworthy,  is  poor ;  he  may  wish 
to  realize.  If  some  —  ahem  !  some  friend  —  better  circum- 
stanced should  choose  to  advance  the  cash  to  him  and  run 
the  risk  —  why  it  would  only  be  an  act  of  kindness." 

"  You  are  proverbially  generous,  Mr.  Gashwiler,"  said 
Wiles,  opening  and  shutting  his  left  eye,  like  a  dark  lan- 
tern, on  the  benevolent  representative. 

"  Youth,  when  faithful  and  painstaking,  should  be  en- 
couraged," replied  Mr.  Gashwiler.  "  I  lately  had  occasion 
to  point  this  out  in  a  few  remarks  I  had  to  make  before 
the  Sabbath-school  reunion  at  Remus.  Thank  you,  I  will 
see  that  they  are  —  ahem —  conveyed  to  him.  I  shall  give 
them  to  him  with  my  own  hand,"  he  concluded,  falling 


68  THE   STOEY   OF   A   MINE 

back  in  his  chair,  as  if  the  better  to  contemplate  the 
perspective  of  his  own  generosity  and  condescension.  Mr, 
Wiles  took  his  hat  and  turned  to  go.  Before  he  reached 
the  door  Mr.  Gashwiler  returned  to  the  social  level  with  a 
chuckle : — 

"  You  say  this  woman,  this  Garcia's  niece,  is  handsome 
and  smart  ?  " 

"  Yes." 

"  I  can  set  another  woman  on  the  track  that  '11  euchre 
her  every  time  !  " 

Mr.  Wiles  was  too  clever  to  appear  to  notice  the  suddeh 
lapse  in  the  Congressman's  dignity,  and  only  said,  with  his 
right  eye :  — 

"  Can  you  ?  " 

"  By  G — d  I  will,  or  I  don't  know  how  to  represent 
Kemus." 

Mr.  Wiles  thanked  him  with  his  right  eye,  looked  a 
dagger  with  his  left.  "  Good,"  he  said,  and  added  per- 
suasively :  "  Does  she  live  here  ?  " 

The  Congressman  nodded  assent.  "  An  awfully  hand- 
some woman  —  a  particular  friend  of  mine  !  "  Mr.  Gash- 
wiler here  looked  as  if  he  would  not  mind  to  have  been 
rallied  a  little  over  his  intimacy  with  the  fair  one,  but  the 
astute  Mr.  Wiles  was  at  the  same  moment  making  up  his 
mind,  after  interpreting  the  Congressman's  look  and  manner, 
that  he  must  know  this  fair  incognito  if  he  wished  to  sway 
Gashwiler.  He  determined  to  bide  his  time. 

The  door  was  scarcely  closed  upon  him  when  another 
knock  diverted  Mr.  Gashwiler's  attention  from  his  proofs. 
The  door  opened  to  a  young  man  with  sandy  hair  and 
anxious  face.  He  entered  the  room  deprecatingly,  as  if 
conscious  of  the  presence  of  a  powerful  being,  to  be 
supplicated  and  feared.  Mr.  Gashwiler  did  not  attempt 
to  disabuse  his  mind.  "  Busy,  you  see,"  he  said  shortly, 
"  correcting  your  work !  " 


WHO   LOBBIED  FOE   IT  69 

"  I  hope  it  is  acceptable  !  "  said  the  young  man,  timidly. 

"Well  —  yes  —  it  will  do,"  said  Gashwiler;  "indeed,  I 
may  say  it  is  satisfactory  on  the  whole,"  he  added  with  the 
appearance  of  a  large  generosity,  "  quite  satisfactory." 

"  You  have  no  news,  I  suppose  ?  "  continued  the  young 
man  with  a  slight  flush,  born  of  pride  or  expectation. 

"No,  nothing  as  yet."  Mr.  Gashwiler  paused  as  if  a 
thought  had  struck  him. 

"  I  have  thought,"  he  said  finally,  "  that  some  position  — 
such  as  a  secretaryship  with  me  —  would  help  you  to  a 
better  appointment.  Now,  supposing  that  I  make  you  my 
private  secretary,  giving  you  some  important  and  confiden- 
tial business.  Eh  ?  " 

Dobbs  looked  at  his  patron  with  a  certain  wistful,  dog- 
like  expectancy ;  moved  himself  excitedly  on  his  chair-seat 
in  a  peculiar  canine-like  anticipation  of  gratitude,  strongly 
suggesting  that  he  would  have  wagged  his  tail  if  he  had 
had  one.  At  which  Mr.  Gashwiler  became  more  impressive. 

"  Indeed,  I  may  say  I  anticipated  it  by  certain  papers  I 
have  put  in  your  charge  and  in  your  name,  only  taking 
from  you  a  transfer  —  that  might  enable  me  to  satisfy  my 
conscience  hereafter  in  recommending  you  as  my  —  ahem  — 
private  secretary.  Perhaps  as  a  mere  form  you  might  now, 
while  you  are  here,  put  your  name  to  these  transfers,  and, 
so  to  speak,  begin  your  duties  at  once." 

The  glow  of  pride  and  hope  that  mantled  the  cheek  of 
poor  Dobbs  might  have  melted  a  harder  heart  than  Gash- 
wiler's.  But  the  Senatorial  toga  had  invested  Mr.  Gash- 
wiler with  a  more  than  Roman  stoicism  towards  the  feelings 
of  others,  and  he  only  fell  back  in  his  chair  in  the  pose  of 
conscious  rectitude  as  Dobbs  hurriedly  signed  the  paper. 

"  I  shall  place  them  in  my  portman-tell,"  said  Gashwiler, 
suiting  the  word  to  the  action,  "  for  safe-keeping.  I  need 
not  inform  you,  who  are  now,  as  it  were,  on  the  threshold 
of  official  life,  that  perfect  and  inviolable  secrecy  in  all 


70  THE   STORY   OF   A   MINE 

affairs  of  State  "  —  Mr.  G.  here  motioned  toward  his  port 
manteau  as  if  it  contained  a  treaty  at  least  —  "is  most 
essential  and  necessary." 

Dobbs  assented  :  "  Then  my  duties  will  keep  me  with 
you  here  ?  "  he  asked  doubtfully. 

"  No  —  no,"  said  Gashwiler,  hastily  ;  then,  correcting 
himself,  he  added  :  "  that  is  —  for  the  present  —  no  !  " 

Poor  Dobbs'  face  fell.  The  near  fact  was  that  he  had 
lately  had  notice  to  quit  his  present  lodgings  in  consequence 
of  arrears  in  his  rent,  and  he  had  a  hopeful  reliance  that 
his  confidential  occupation  would  carry  bread  and  lodging 
with  it.  But  he  only  asked  if  there  were  any  new  papers 
to  make  out. 

"  Ahem  !  not  at  present ;  the  fact  is  that  I  am  obliged 
to  give  so  much  of  my  time  to  callers  —  I  have  to-day  been 
obliged  to  see  half  a  dozen  —  that  I  must  lock  myself  up 
and  say  l  Not  at  home  '  for  the  rest  of  the  day." 

Feeling  that  this  was  an  intimation  that  the  interview 
was  over,  the  new  private  secretary,  a  little  dashed  as  to 
his  near  hopes,  but  still  sanguine  of  the  future,  humbly 
took  his  leave. 

But  here  a  certain  Providence,  perhaps  mindful  of  poor 
Dobbs,  threw  into  his  simple  hands  —  to  be  used  or  not, 
if  he  were  worthy  or  capable  of  using  it  —  a  certain  power 
and  advantage.  He  had  descended  the  staircase,  and  was 
passing  through  the  lower  corridor,  when  he  was  made  the 
unwilling  witness  of  a  remarkable  assault. 

It  appeared  that  Mr.  Wiles,  who  had  quitted  Gashwiler's 
presence  as  Dobbs  was  announced,  had  other  business  in 
the  hotel,  and  in  pursuance  of  it  had  knocked  at  room  No. 
90.  In  response  to  the  gruff  voice  that  bade  him  enter, 
Mr.  Wiles  opened  the  door  and  espied  the  figure  of  a  tall, 
muscular,  fiery-bearded  man  extended  on  the  bed,  with  the 
bed-clothes  carefully  tucked  under  his  chin  and  his  arms 
lying  flat  by  his  side. 


WHO   LOBBIED   FOR   IT  71 

Mr.  Wiles  beamed  with  his  right  cheek,  and  advanced  to 
the  bed  as  if  to  take  the  hand  of  the  stranger,  who,  how- 
ever, neither  by  word  nor  sign,  responded  to  his  salutation. 

"  Perhaps  I  'm  intruding  ?  "  said  Mr.  Wiles  blandly. 

"  Perhaps  you  are,"  said  Red  Beard  dryly. 

Mr.  Wiles  forced  a  smile  on  his  right  cheek,  which  he 
turned  to  the  smiter,  but  permitted  the  left  to  indulge  in 
unlimited  malevolence.  "  I  wanted  merely  to  know  if  you 
have  looked  into  that  matter  ?  "  he  said  meekly. 

"  I  've  looked  into  it  and  round  it,  and  across  it  and  over 
it  and  through  it,"  responded  the  man  gravely,  with  his 
eyes  fixed  on  Wiles. 

"  And  you  have  perused  all  the  papers  ?  "  continued  Mr. 
Wiles. 

"  I  've  read  every  paper,  every  speech,  every  affidavit, 
every  decision,  every  argument,"  said  'the  stranger,  as  if 
repeating  a  formula. 

Mr.  Wiles  attempted  to  conceal  his  embarrassment  by  an 
easy,  right-handed  smile,  that  went  off  sardonically  on  the 
left,  and  continued,  "  Then  I  hope,  my  dear  sir,  that,  hav- 
ing thoroughly  mastered  the  case,  you  are  inclined  to  be 
favorable  to  us  ?  " 

The  gentleman  in  the  bed  did  not  reply,  but  apparently 
nestled  more  closely  beneath  the  coverlids. 

"I  have  brought  the  shares  I  spoke  of,"  continued  Mr. 
Wiles  insinuatingly. 

"  Hev  you  a  friend  within  call  ?  "  interrupted  the  re- 
cumbent man  gently. 

"  I  don't  quite  understand  !  "  smiled  Mr.  Wiles.  "  Of 
course  any  name  you  might  suggest  "  — 

"Hev  you  a  friend —  any  chap  that  you  might  waltz  in 
here  at  a  moment's  call  ? "  continued  the  man  in  bed. 
"  No  ?  Do  you  know  any  of  them  waiters  in  the  house  ? 
Thar  's  a  bell  over  yan  !  "  and  he  motioned  with  his  eyes 
towards  the  wall,  but  did  not  otherwise  move  his  body. 


72  THE   STORY    OF   A   MINE 

"  No,"  said  Wiles,  becoming  slightly  suspicious  and 
wrathful. 

"  Mebbe  a  stranger 'might  do?  I  reckon  thar 's  one 
passin'  in  the  hall.  Call  him  in  —  he  '11  do  !  " 

Wiles  opened  the  door  a  little  impatiently,  yet  inquisi- 
tively, as  Dobbs  passed.  The  man  in  bed  called  out, 
"  Oh,  stranger  ?  "  and,  as  Dobbs  stopped,  said  "  Come  'yar.'7 

Dobbs  entered  a  little  timidly,  as  was  his  habit  with 
strangers. 

"  I  don't  know  who  you  be  —  nor  care,  I  reckon,"  said 
the  stranger.  "  This  yer  man  "  —  pointing  to  Wiles —  "  is 
Wiles.  I  'm  Josh  Sibblee  of  Fresno,  Member  of  Congress 
from  the  4th  Congressional  District  of  Calif orny.  I  'm  jist 
lying  here,  with  a  derringer  into  each  hand  — jist  lying  here 
kivered  up  and  holdin'  in  on'y  to  keep  from  blowin'  the 
top  o'  this  d — d  skunk's  head  off.  I  kinder  feel  I  can't 
hold  in  any  longer.  What  I  want  to  say  to  ye,  stranger, 
is  that  this  yer  skunk  —  which  his  name  is  Wiles  —  hez  bin 
tryin'  his  d — dest  to  get  a  bribe  onto  Josh,  and  Josh,  out  o' 
respect  for  his  constituents,  is  jist  waitin'  for  some  stranger 
to  waltz  in  and  stop  the  d — dest  fight "  — 

"  But,  my  dear  Mr.  Sibblee,  there  must  be  some  mis- 
take," said  Wiles  earnestly. 

"  Mistake  ?     Strip  me .!  " 

"  No  !  no  !  "  said  Wiles  hurriedly,  as  the  simple-minded 
Dobbs  was  about  to  draw  down  the  coverlid. 

"  Take  him  away,"  said  the  Honorable  Mr.  Sibblee, 
"  before  I  disgrace  my  constituency.  They  said  I  'd  be  iu 
jail  'afore  I  get  through  the  session.  Ef  you  've  got  any 
humanity,  stranger,  snake  him  out,  and  pow'ful  quick,  too." 

Dobbs,  quite  white  and  aghast,  looked  at  Wiles  and  hesi- 
tated. There  was  a  slight  movement  in  the  bed.  Both 
men  started  for  the  door,  and  the  next  minute  it  closed  very 
decidedly  on  the  member  from  Fresno. 


HOW    IT   WAS   LOBBIED   FOR  73 

XI 
HOW    IT    WAS    LOBBIED    FOB 

The  Honorable  Pratt  C.  Gashwiler,  M.  C.,  was  of  course 
unaware  of  the  incident  described  in  the  last  chapter.  His 
secret,  even  if  it  had  been  discovered  by  Dobbs,  was  safe  in 
that  gentleman's  innocent  and  honorable  hands,  and  cer- 
tainly was  not  of  a  quality  that  Mr.  Wiles,  at  present,  would 
have  cared  to  expose.  For,  in  spite  of  Mr.  Wiles'  discom- 
fiture, he  still  had  enough  experience  of  character  to  know 
that  the  irate  member  from  Fresno  would  be  satisfied  with 
his  own  peculiar  manner  of  vindicating  his  own  personal 
integrity,  and  would  not  make  a  public  scandal  of  it. 
Again,  Wiles  was  convinced  that  Dobbs  was  equally  impli- 
cated with  Gashwiler,  and  would  be  silent  for  his  own  sake. 
So  that  poor  Dobbs,  as  is  too  often  the  fate  of  simple  but 
weak  natures,  had  full  credit  for  duplicity  by  every  rascal 
in  the  land. 

From  which  it  may  be  inferred  that  nothing  occurred  to 
disturb  the  security  of  Gashwiler.  When  the  door  closed 
upon  Mr.  Wiles,  he  indited  a  note,  which  with  a  costly  but 
exceedingly  distasteful  bouquet  —  rearranged  by  his  own 
fat  fingers,  and  discord  and  incongruity  visible  in  every 
combination  of  color  —  he  sent  off  by  a  special  messenger. 
Then  he  proceeded  to  make  his  toilet,  —  an  operation  rarely 
graceful  or  picturesque  in  our  sex,  and  an  insult  to  the 
spectator  when  obesity  is  superadded.  When  he  had  put 
on  a  clean  shirt,  of  which  there  was  grossly  too  much,  and 
added  a  white  waistcoat,  that  seemed  to  accent  his  rotun- 
dity, he  completed  his  attire  with  a  black  frock  coat  of  the 
latest  style,  and  surveyed  himself  complacently  before  a 
mirror.  It  is  to  be  recorded  that,  however  satisfactory  the 
result  may  have  been  to  Mr.  Gashwiler,  it  was  not  so  to 


74  THE   STORY   OF    A    MINE 

the  disinterested  spectator.  There  are  some  men  on  whom 
"  that  deformed  thief,  Fashion,"  avenges  himself  by  making 
their  clothes  appear  perennially  new.  The  gloss  of  the 
tailor's  iron  never  disappears  ;  the  creases  of  the  shelf  per- 
petually rise  in  judgment  against  the  wearer.  Novelty 
was  the  general  suggestion  of  Mr.  Gashwiler's  full  dress  — 
it  was  never  his  habitude  —  and  "  Our  own  Make," 
"  Nobby,"  and  the  "  Latest  Style,  only  $15,"  was  as  patent 
on  the  legislator's  broad  back  as  if  it  still  retained  the 
shopman's  ticket. 

Thus  arrayed,  within  an  hour  he  complacently  followed 
the  note  and  his  floral  offering.  The  house  he  sought  had 
been  once  the  residence  of  a  foreign  ambassador,  who  had 
loyally  represented  his  government  in  a  single  unimportant 
treaty,  now  forgotten,  and  in  various  receptions  and  dinners, 
still  actively  remembered  by  occasional  visitors  to  its  salon, 
now  the  average  dreary  American  parlor.  "  Dear  me," 
the  fascinating  Mr.  X.  would  say,  "  but  do  you  know,  love, 
in  this  very  room  I  remember  meeting  the  distinguished 
Marquis  of  Monte  Pio,"  or  perhaps  the  fashionable  Jones 
of  the  State  Department  instantly  crushed  the  decayed 
friend  he  was  perfunctorily  visiting,  by  saying,  "  'Pon  my 
soul,  you  here  !  —  why,  the  last  time  1  was  in  this  room  I 
gossiped  for  an  hour  with  the  Countess  de  Castenet  in  that 
very  corner."  For  with  the  recall  of  the  aforesaid  Ambas- 
sador the  mansion  had  become  a  boarding-house,  kept  by 
the  wife  of  a  departmental  clerk. 

Perhaps  there  was  nothing  in  the  history  of  the  house 
more  quaint  and  philosophic  than  the  story  of  its  present 
occupant.  R-ogar  Fauquier  had  been  a  departmental  clerk 
for  forty  years.  It  was  at  once  his  practical  good  luck  and 
his  misfortune  to  have  been  early  appointed  to  a  position 
which  required  a  thorough  and  complete  knowledge  of  the 
formulas  and  routine  of  a  department  that  expended  mil- 
lions of  the  public  funds.  Fauquier,  on  a  poor  salary, 


HOW   IT   WAS   LOBBIED   FOR  75 

diminishing  instead  of  increasing  with  his  service,  had  seen 
successive  Administrations  bud  and  blossom  and  decay,  but 
had  kept  his  position  through  the  fact  that  his  knowledge 
was  a  necessity  to  the  successive  chiefs  and  employees. 
Once  it  was  true  that  he  had  been  summarily  removed  by 
a  new  Secretary,  to  make  room  for  a  camp-follower,  whose 
exhaustive  and  intellectual  services  in  a  political  campaign 
had  made  him  eminently  fit  for  anything,  but  the  alarming 
discovery  that  the  new  clerk's  knowledge  of  grammar  and 
etymology  was  even  worse  than  that  of  the  Secretary  him- 
self, and  that,  through  ignorance  of  detail,  the  business  of 
that  department  was  retarded  to  a  damage  to  the  Govern- 
ment of  over  half  a  million  of  dollars,  led  to  the  reinstate- 
ment of  Mr.  Fauquier  —  at  a  lower  salary.  For  it  was 
felt  that  something  was  wrong  somewhere,  and,  as  it  had 
always  been  the  custom  of  Congress  and  the  Administra- 
tion to  cut  down  salaries  as  the  first  step  to  reform,  they 
made  of  Mr.  Fauquier  a  moral  example.  A  gentleman 
born,  of  somewhat  expensive  tastes,  having  lived  up  to  his 
former  salary,  this  change  brought  another  bread-winner 
into  the  field,  Mrs.  Fauquier,  who  tried,  more  or  less  unsuc- 
cessfully, to  turn  her  old  Southern  habits  of  hospitality  to 
remunerative  account.  But  as  poor  Fauquier  could  never 
be  prevailed  upon  to  present  a  bill  to  a  gentleman,  Sir,  and 
as  some  of  the  scions  of  the  best  Southern  families  were 
still  waiting  for,  or  had  been  recently  dismissed  from,  a 
position,  the  experiment  was  a  pecuniary  failure.  Yet  the 
house  was  of  excellent  repute  and  well  patronized  ;  indeed, 
it  was  worth  something  to  see  old  Fauquier  sitting  at  the 
head  in  his  ancestral  style,  relating  anecdotes  of  great  men 
now  dead  and  gone,  interrupted  only  by  occasional  visits 
from  importunate  tradesmen. 

Prominent  among  what  Mr.  Fauquier  called  his  "  little 
family,"  was  a  black-eyed  lady  of  great  powers  of  fascina- 
tion, and  considerable  local  reputation  as  a  flirt.  Never- 


76  THE   STORY   OF   A   MINE 

t/ieless,  these  social  aberrations  were  amply  condoned  by 
a  facile  and  complacent  husband,  who  looked  with  a  lenient 
and  even  admiring  eye  upon  the  little  lady's  amusement, 
and  to  a  certain  extent  lent  a  tacit  indorsement  to  her 
conduct.  Nobody  minded  Hopkinson ;  in  the  blaze  of 
Mrs.  Hopkinson's  fascinations  he  was  completely  lost  sight 
of.  A  few  married  women  with  unduly  sensitive  husbands, 
and  several  single  ladies  of  the  best  and  longest  standing, 
reflected  severely  on  her  conduct.  The  younger  men  of 
course  admired  her,  but  I  think  she  got  her  chief  support 
from  old  fogies  like  ourselves.  For  it  is  your  quiet,  self- 
conceited,  complacent,  philosophic,  broad-waisted  pater- 
familias who,  after  all,  is  the  one  to  whom  the  gay  and 
giddy  of  the  proverbially  impulsive,  unselfish  sex  owe  their 
place  in  the  social  firmament.  We  are  not  inclined  to  be 
captious;  we  laugh  at,  as  a  folly,  what  our  wives  and 
daughters  condemn  as  a  fault ;  our  "  withers  are  unwrung," 
yet  we  still  confess  to  the  fascinations  of  a  pretty  face. 
We  know,  bless  us,  from  dear  experience,  the  exact  value 
of  one  woman's  opinion  of  another ;  we  want  our  brilliant 
little  friend  to  shine ;  it  is  only  the  moths  who  will  burn 
their  twopenny  immature  wings  in  the  flame  !  And  why 
should  they  not  ?  Nature  has  been  pleased  to  supply  more 
moths  than  candles  !  Go  to  !  —  give  the  pretty  creature  — 
be  she  maid,  wife,  or  widow  —  a  show  !  And  so,  my  dear 
sir,  while  mater-familias  bends  her  black  brows  in  disgust, 
we  smile  our  superior  little  smile,  and  extend  to  Mistress 
Anonyma  our  gracious  indorsement.  And  if  Giddiness  is 
grateful,  or  if  Folly  is  friendly  —  well,  of  course,  ice  can't 
help  that.  Indeed,  it  rather  proves  our  theory. 

I  had  intended  to  say  something  about  Hopkinson,  but 
really  there  is  very  little  to  say.  He  was  invariably  good- 
humored.  A  few  ladies  once  tried  to  show  him  that  he 
really  ought  to  feel  worse  than  he  did  about  the  conduct  of 
his  wife,  and  it  is  recorded  that  Hopkinson,  in  an  excess  of 


HOW    IT   WAS   LOBBIED   FOR  77 

good-humor  and  kindliness,  promised  to  do  so.  Indeed 
the  good  fellow  was  so  accessible  that  it  is  said  that  young 
De  Lancy  of  the  Tape  Department  confided  to  Hopkinson 
his  jealousy  of  a  rival,  and  revealed  the  awful  secret  that 
he  (De  Lancy)  had  reason  to  expect  more  loyalty  from  his 
(Hopkinson's)  wife.  The  good  fellow  is  reported  to  have 
been  very  sympathetic,  and  to  have  promised  De  Lancy  to 
lend  whatever  influence  he  had  with  Mrs.  Hopkinson  in  his 
favor.  "  You  see,"  he  said  explanatorily  to  De  Lancy, 
"  she  has  a  good  deal  to  attend  to  lately,  and  I  suppose  has 
got  rather  careless  —  that 's  women's  ways.  But  if  /  can't 
bring  her  round  I  '11  speak  to  Gashwiler  —  I  '11  get  him  to 
use  his  influence  with  Mrs.  Hop.  So  cheer  up,  my  boy, 
he'll  make  it  all  right." 

The  appearance  of  a  bouquet  on  the  table  of  Mrs.  Hop- 
kinson was  no  rare  event ;  nevertheless,  Mr.  Gashwiler's 
was  not  there.  Its  hideous  contrasts  had  offended  her 
woman's  eye,  —  it  is  observable  that  good  taste  survives  the 
wreck  of  all  the  other  feminine  virtues,  — and  she  had  dis- 
tributed it  to  make  boutonnieres  for  other  gentlemen.  Yet 
when  he  appeared  she  said  to  him  hastily,  putting  her  little 
hand  over  the  cardiac  region  :  — 

"  I  'm  so  glad  you  came.  But  you  gave  me  such  a  fright 
an  hour  ago." 

Mr.  Gashwiler  was  both  pleased  and  astounded.  "  What 
have  I  done,  my  dear  Mrs.  Hopkinson  ?  "  he  began. 

"  Oh,  don't  talk,"  she  said  sadly.  "What  have  you 
done  ?  indeed !  Why,  you  sent  me  that  beautiful  bouquet. 
I  could  not  mistake  your  taste  in  the  arrangement  of  the 
flowers  —  but  my  husband  was  here.  You  know  his  jeal- 
ousy. I  was  obliged  to  conceal  it  from  him.  Never  — 
promise  me  now  — never  do  it  again." 

Mr.  Gashwiler  gallantly  protested. 

"  No  !  I  am  serious  !  I  was  so  agitated ;  he  must  have 
seen  me  blush." 


78  THE    STORY    OF   A   MINE 

Nothing  but  the  gross  flattery  of  this  speech  could  have 
clouded  its  manifest  absurdity  to  the  Gashwiler  conscious- 
ness. But  Mr.  Gashwiler  had  already  succumbed  to  the 
girlish  half-timidity  with  which  it  was  uttered.  Neverthe- 
less, he  could  not  help  saying,  — 

"  But  why  should  he  be  so  jealous  now  ?  Only  day 
before  yesterday  I  -saw  Simpson  of  Duluth  hand  you  a  nose- 
gay right  before  him  !  " 

"  Ah,"  returned  the  lady,  "  he  was  outwardly  calm  then, 
but  you  know  nothing  of  the  scene  that  occurred  between 
us  after  you  left." 

"But,"  gasped  the  practical  Gashwiler,  "  Simpson  had 
given  your  husband  that  contract  —  a  cool  fifty  thousand  in 
his  pocket !  " 

Mrs.  Hopkinson  looked  as  dignifiedly  at  Gashwiler  as 
was  consistent  with  five  feet  three  (the  extra  three  inches 
being  a  pyramidal  structure  of  straw-colored  hair),  a  frond 
of  faint  curls,  a  pair  of  laughing  blue  eyes,  and  a  small  belted 
waist.  Then  she  said,  with  a  casting  down  of  her  lids  :  — 

"  You  forget  that  my  husband  loves  me."  And  for  once 
the  minx  appeared  to  look  penitent.  It  was  becoming,  but 
as  it  had  been  originally  practiced  in  a  simple  white  dress, 
relieved  only  with  pale  blue  ribbons,  it  was  not  entirely  in 
keeping  with  beflounced  lavender  and  rose-colored  trim- 
mings. Yet  the  woman  who  hesitates  between  her  moral 
expression  and  the  harmony  of  her  dress  is  lost.  And 
Mrs.  Hopkinson  was  victrix  by  her  very  audacity. 

Mr.  Gashwiler  was  flattered.  The  most  dissolute  man 
likes  the  appearance  of  virtue.  "  But  graces  and  accom- 
plishments like  yours,  dear  Mrs.  Hopkinson,"  he  said 
oleaginously,  "  belong  to  the  whole  country."  Which, 
with  something  between  a  courtesy  and  a  strut,  he  endeav- 
ored to  represent.  "  And  I  shall  want  to  avail  myself 
of  all,"  he  added,  "  in  the  matter  of  the  Castro  claim.  A 
little  supper  at  Welcker's,  a  glass  or  two  of  champagne, 


HOW   IT   WAS   LOBBIED   FOB  79 

and  a  single  flash  of  those  bright  eyes,  and  the  thing  is 
done." 

"  But,"  said  Mrs.  Hopkinson,  "  I  've  promised  Josiah 
that  I  would  give  up  all  those  frivolities,  and  although  my 
conscience  is  clear,  you  know  how  people  talk  !  Josiah 
hears  it.  Why,  only  last  night,  at  a  reception  at  the  Pata- 
gonian  Minister's,  every  woman  in  the  room  gossiped  about 
me  because  I  led  the  German  with  him.  As  if  a  married 
woman,  whose  husband  was  interested  in  the  Government, 
could  not  be-  civil  to  the  representative  of  a  friendly 
power !  " 

Mr.  Gashwiler  did  not  see  how  Mr.  Hopkinson's  late 
contract  for  supplying  salt  pork  and  canned  provisions  to 
the  army  of  the  United  States  should  make  his  wife  suscep- 
tible to  the  advances  of  fbreign  princes,  but  he  prudently 
kept  that  to  himself.  Still,  not  being  himself  a  diplomat, 
he  could  not  help  saying  — 

"  But  I  understood  that  Mr.  Hopkinson  did  not  object 
to  your  interesting  yourself  in  this  claim,  and  you  know 
some  of  the  stock  "  — 

The  lady  started,  and  said  — 

"  Stock  !  Dear  Mr.  Gashwiler,  for  heaven's  sake  don't 
mention  that  hideous  name  to  me.  Stock !  I  am  sick  of 
it !  Have  you  gentlemen  no  other  topic  for  a  lady  ?  " 

She  punctuated  her  sentence  with  a  mischievous  look  at 
her  interlocutor.  For  a  second  time,  I  regret  to  say  that 
Mr.  Gashwiler  succumbed.  The  Koman  constituency  at 
Remus,  it  is  to  be  hoped,  were  happily  ignorant  of  this  last 
defection  of  their  great  legislator.  Mr.  Gashwiler  instantly 
forgot  his  theme  —  began  to  ply  the  lady  with  a  certain 
bovine-like  gallantry,  which,  it  is  to  be  said  to  her  credit, 
she  parried  with  a  playful,  terrier-like  dexterity,  when  the 
servant  suddenly  announced,  "  Mr.  Wiles." 

Gashwiler  started.  Not  so  Mrs.  Hopkinson,  who  how- 
ever, prudently  and  quietly  removed  her  own  chair  several 
inches  from  Gashwiler's. 


80  THE    STORY    OF   A   MINE 

"  Do  you  know  Mr.  Wiles  ?  "  she  asked  pleasantly. 

"  No  !  That  is,  I  —  ah  —  yes,  I  may  say  I  have  had 
some  business  relations  with  him,"  responded  Gashwiler, 
rising. 

"  Won't  you  stay  ?  "  she  added  pleadingly.      "  Do  !  " 

Mr.  Gashwiler's  prudence  always  got  the  better  of  his 
gallantry.  "  Not  now,"  he  responded,  in  some  nervousness. 
"  Perhaps  I  had  better  go  now,  in  view  of  what  you  have 
just  said  about  gossip.  You  need  not  mention  my  name  to 
this-er  —  this  —  Mr.  Wiles."  And  with  one  eye  on  the 
door  and  an  awkward  dash  at  his  lady's  fingers,  he  with- 
drew. 

There  was  no  introductory  formula  to  Mr.  Wiles'  inter- 
view. He  dashed  at  once  in  medias  res.  "  Gashwiler 
knows  a  woman  that,  he  says,'  can  help  us  against  that 
Spanish  girl  who  is  coming  here  with  proofs,  prettiness, 
fascinations,  and  what  not  ?  You  must  find  her  out." 

"  Why  ?  "  asked  the  lady  laughingly. 

"  Because  I  don't  trust  that  Gashwiler.  A  woman  with 
a  pretty  face  and  an  ounce  of  brains  could  sell  him  out; 
ay,  and  us  with  him." 

"Oh,  say  two  ounces  of  brains.  Mr.  Wiles,  Mr.  Gash- 
wiler is  no  fool." 

"  Possibly,  except  when  your  sex  is  concerned,  and  it  is 
very  likely  that  this  woman  is  his  superior." 

"  I  should  think  so,"  said  Mrs.  Hopkinson  with  a  mis- 
chievous look. 

"  Ah,  you  know  her,  then  ?  " 

"Not  so  well  as  I  know  him,"  said  Mrs.  H.,  quite 
seriously.  "  I  wish  I  did." 

"  Well,  you  '11  find  out  if  she  's  to  be  trusted  !  You  are 
laughing  —  it  is  a  serious  matter  !  This  woman  "  — 

Mrs.  Hopkinson  dropped  him  a  charming  curtsey  and 
said  — 

"  C'est  moi  ." " 


A  RACE   FOR   IT  81 

XII 
A    BACK    FOR    IT 

Royal  Thatcher  worked  hard.  That  the  boyish  Httle 
painter  who  shared  his  hospitality  at  the  "  Blue  Mass " 
mine  should  afterward  have  little  part  in  his  active  life 
seemed  not  inconsistent  with  his  habits.  At  present  the 
mine  was  his  only  mistress,  claiming  his  entire  time,  ex- 
asperating him  with  fickleness,  but  still  requiring  that 
supreme  devotion  of  which  his  nature  was  capable.  It  is 
possible  that  Miss  Carmen  saw  this  too,  and  so  set  about 
with  feminine  tact,  if  not  to  supplement,  at  least  to  make 
her  rival  less  pertinacious  and  absorbing.  Apart  from  this 
object  she  zealously  labored  in  her  profession,  yet  with 
small  pecuniary  result,  I  fear.  Local  art  was  at  a  discount 
in  California.  The  scenery  of  the  country  had  not  yet 
become  famous  ;  rather,  it  was  reserved  for  a  certain  East- 
ern artist,  already  famous,  to  make  it  so,  and  people  cared 
little  for  the  reproduction,  under  their  very  noses,  of  that 
which  they  saw  continually  with  their  own  eyes  and  valued 
not.  So  that  little  Mistress  Carmen  was  fain  to  divert  her 
artist  soul  to  support  her  plump  little  material  body,  and 
made  divers  excursions  into  the  region  of  ceramic  art,  paint- 
ing on  velvet,  illuminating  missals,  decorating  china,  and 
the  like.  I  have  in  my  possession  some  wax-flowers  —  a 
startling  fuchsia,  and  a  bewildering  dahlia  —  sold  for  a 
mere  pittance  by  this  little  lady,  whose  pictures  lately  took 
the  prize  at  a  foreign  exhibition,  shortly  after  she  had  been 
half-starved  by  a  California  public,  and  claimed  by  a  Cali- 
fornia press  as  its  fostered  child  of  genius. 

Of  these  struggles  and  triumphs  Thatcher  had  no  know- 
ledge, yet  he  was  perhaps  more  startled  than  he  would 


82  THE   STORY   OF   A   MINE 

own  to  himself,  when  one  December  day,  he  received  this 
despatch  : 

"  Come  to  Washington  at  once.  Carmen  de  Haro." 
"  Carmen  de  Haro !  "  I  grieve  to  state  that  such  was 
the  preoccupation  of  this  man,  elected  by  fate  to  be  the 
hero  of  the  solitary  amatory  episode  of  this  story,  that  for 
a  moment  he  could  not  recall  her.  When  the  honest  little 
figure  that  had  so  manfully  stood  up  against  him,  and  had 
proved  her  sex  by  afterwards  running  away  from  him, 
came  back  at  last  to  his  memory,  he  was  at  first  mystified 
and  then  self-reproachful.  He  had  been,  he  felt  vaguely, 
untrue  to  himself.  He  had  been  remiss  to  the  self-con- 
fessed daughter  of  his  enemy.  Yet  why  should  she  tele- 
graph to  him.  and  what  was  she  doing  in  Washington  ? 
To  all  these  speculations,  it  is  to  be  said  to  his  credit,  that 
he  looked  for  no  sentimental  or  romantic  answer.  Royal 
Thatcher  was  naturally  modest  and  self-depreciating  in  his 
relations  to  the  other  sex,  as  indeed  most  men,  who  are 
apt  to  be  successful  with  women,  generally  are  —  despite  a 
vast  degree  of  superannuated  bosh  to  the  contrary.  For 
the  half-dozen  women  who  are  startled  by  sheer  audacity 
into  submission,  there  are  scores  who  are  piqued  by  a  self- 
respectful  patience.  And  where  a  woman  has  to  do  half 
the  wooing,  she  generally  makes  a  pretty  sure  thing  of  it. 

In  his  bewilderment  Thatcher  had  overlooked  a  letter 
lying  on  his  table.  It  was  from  his  Washington  lawyer. 
The  concluding  paragraph  caught  his  eye  :  "  Perhaps  it 
would  be  well  if  you  came  here  yourself ;  Roscommon  is 
here,  and  they  say  there  is  a  niece  of  Garcia's,  lately 
appeared,  who  is  likely  to  get  up  a  strong  social  sympathy 
for  the  old  Mexican.  I  don't  know  that  they  expect  to 
prove  anything  by  her,  but  I  'm  told  she  is  attractive  and 
clever,  and  has  enlisted  the  sympathies  of  the  delegation." 
Thatcher  laid  the  letter  down  a  little  indignantly.  Strong 
men  are  quite  as  liable  as  weak  women  are  to  sudden 


A   RACE   FOR   IT  83 

inconsistencies  on  any  question  they  may  have  in  common. 
What  right  had  this  poor  little  bud  he  had  cherished  —  he 
was  quite  satisfied  now  that  he  had  cherished  her,  and 
really  had  suffered  from  her  absence  —  what  right  had  she 
to  suddenly  blossom  in  the  sunshine  of  power,  to  be,  per- 
haps, plucked  and  worn  by  one  of  his  enemies  ?  He  did 
not  agree  with  his  lawyer  that  she  was  in  any  way  connected 
with  his  enemies ;  he  trusted  to  her  masculine  loyalty  that 
far.  But  here  was  something  vaguely  dangerous  to  the 
feminine  mind  —  position,  flattery,  power.  He  was  almost 
as  firmly  satisfied  now  that  he  had  been  wronged  and 
neglected  as  he  had  been  positive  a  few  moments  before 
that  he  had  been  remiss  in  his  attention.  The  irritation, 
although  momentary,  was  enough  to  decide  this  strong 
man ;  he  telegraphed  to  San  Francisco,  and  having  missed 
the  steamer,  secured  an  overland  passage  to  Washington ; 
thought  better  of  it,  and  partly  changed  his  mind  an  hour 
after  the  ticket  was  purchased  —  but,  manlike,  having  once 
made  a  practical  step  in  a  wrong  direction,  he  kept  oh 
rather  than  admit  an  inconsistency  to  himself.  Yet  he 
•was  not  entirely  satisfied  that  his  journey  was  a'  business 
one.  The  impulsive,  weak  little  Mistress  Carmen  had 
evidently  scored  one  against  the  strong  man. 

Only  a  small  part  of  the  present  great  transcontinental 
railway  at  this  time  had  been  built,  and  was  but  piers  at 
either  end  of  a  desolate  and  wild  expanse  as  yet  unbridged. 
When  the  overland  traveler  left  the  rail  at  Reno,  he  left, 
as  it  were,  civilization  with  it,  and  until  he  reached  the 
Nebraska  frontier,  the  rest  of  his  road  was  only  the  old 
emigrant  trail  traversed  by  the  coaches  of  the  Overland 
Company.  Excepting  a  part  of  "  Devil's  Canon,"  the  way 
was  unpicturesque  and  flat,  aijd  the  passage  of  the  Rocky 
Mountains,  far  from  suggesting  the  alleged  poetry  of  that 
region,  was  only  a  reminder  of  those  sterile  distances  of  a 
level  New  England  landscape.  The  journey  was  a  dreary 


64  THE    STORY   OF   A   MINE 

monotony,  that  was  scarcely  enlivened  by  its  discomforts, 
never  amounting  to  actual  accident  or  incident,  but  utterly 
destructive  to  all  nervous  tissue.  Insanity  often  super- 
vened. "  On  the  third  day  out,"  said  Hank  Monk,  driver, 
speaking  casually  but  charitably  of  a  "  fare  "  —  "  on  the 
third  day  out,  after  axing  no  end  of  questions  and  getting 
no  answers,  he  took  to  chewing  straws  that  he  picked  outer 
the  cushion,  and  kinder  cussin'  to  himself.  From  that  very 
day  I  knew  it  was  all  over  with  him,  and  I  handed  him 
over  to  his  friends  at  '  Shy  Ann/  strapped  to  the  back  seat, 
and  ravin'  and  cussin'  at  Ben  Holliday,  the  gent' manly 
proprietor."  It  is  presumed  that  the  xmfortunate  tourist's 
indignation  was  excited  at  the  late  Mr.  Benjamin  Holliday, 
then  the  proprietor  of  the  line — an  evidence  of  his  insan- 
ity that  no  one  who  knew  that  large-hearted,  fastidious, 
and  elegantly  cultured  Californian,  since  allied  to  foreign 
nobility,  will  for  a  moment  doubt. 

Mr.  Royal  Thatcher  was  too  old  and  experienced  a 
mountaineer  to  do  aught  but  accept  patiently  and  cynically 
his  brother  Californian's  method  of  increasing  his  profits. 
As  it  was  generally  understood  that  any  one  who  came 
from  California  by  that  route  had  some  dark  design,  the 
victim  received  little  sympathy.  Thatcher's  equable  tem- 
perament and  indomitable  will  stood  him  in  good  stead,, 
;;iid  helped  him  cheerfully  in  this  emergency.  He  ate  his 
scant  meals,  and  otherwise  took  care  of  the  functions  of 
his  weak  human  nature,  when  and  where  he  could,  without 
grumbling,  and  at  times  earned  even  the  praise  of  his  driver 
by  his  ability  to  "  rough  it."  Which  "  roughing  it,"  by 
the  way,  meant  the  ability  of  the  passenger  to  accept  the 
incompetency  of  the  company.  It  is  true  there  were  times 
when  he  regretted  that  he  had  not  taken  the  steamer, 
but  then  he  reflected  that  he  was  one  of  a  Vigilance  Com- 
mittee, sworn  to  hang  that  admirable  man,  the  late  Com- 
modore William  H.  Vanderbilt,  for  certain  practices  and 


A   RACE  FOR   IT  85 

cruelties  done  upon  the  bodies  of  certain  steerage  passengers 
by  his  line,  and  for  divers  irregularities  in  their  transpor- 
tation. I  mention  this  fact  merely  to  show  how  so  practical 
and  stout  a  voyager  as  Thatcher  might  have  confounded  the 
perplexities  attending  the  administration  of  a  great  steamship 
company  with  selfish  greed  and  brutality,  and  that  he,  with 
other  Californians,  may  not  have  known  the  fact,  since 
recorded  by  the  Commodore's  family  clergyman,  that  the 
great  millionaire  was  always  true  to  the  hymns  of  his  child- 
hood. 

Nevertheless  Thatcher  found  time  to  be  cheerful  and 
helpful  to  his  felloAV  passengers,  and  even  to  be  so  far 
interesting  to  "  Yuba  Bill,"  driver,  as  to  have  the  box  seat 
placed  at  his  disposal.  "  But,"  said  Thatcher,  in  some 
concern,  "  the  box  seat  was  purchased  by  that  other  gentle- 
man in  Sacramento.  He  paid  extra  for  it,  and  his  name.'s 
on  your  way-bill  !  "  "  That,"  said  Yuba  Bill,  scornfully, 
"  don't  fetch  me  even  ef  he  'd  chartered  the  whole  shebang. 
Look  yar,  do  you  reckon  I  'm  goin'  to  sp'ile  my  temper  by 
setting  next  to  a  man  with  a  game  eye.  And  such  an  eye ! 
Gewhillikins !  Why,  darn  my  skin,  the  other  day  when  we 
war  watering  at  Webster's,  he  got  down  and  passed  in  front 
of  the  off-leader  —  that  yer  pinto  colt  that 's  bin  accustomed 
to  injins,  grizzlies,  and  buffalo,  and  I  'm  blest  ef,  when  her 
eye  tackled  his,  ef  she  did  n't  jist  git  up  and  rar  'round,  that 
I  reckoned  I  'd  hev  to  go  down  and  take  them  blinders  off 
from  her  eyes  and  clap  'em  on  his."  "  But  he  paid  his 
money  and  is  entitled  to  his  seat,"  persisted  Thatcher. 
"  Mebbe  he  is  —  in  the  office  of  the  kempeny,"  growled 
Yuba  Bill,  "  but  it 's  time  some  folks  knowed  that  out  in 
the  plains  I  run  this  yer  team  myself."  A  fact  which  was 
self-evident  to  most  of  the  passengers.  "  I  suppose  his 
authority  is  as  absolute  on  this  dreary  waste  as  the  captain 
of  a  ship's  in  mid-ocean,"  explained  Thatcher  to  the  baleful- 
eyed  stranger.  Mr.  Wiles  —  whom  the  reader  has  recognized 


86  THE   STORY   OF   A   MINE 

—  assented  with  the  public  side  of  his  face,  but  looked 
vengeance  at  Yuba  Bill  with  the  other,  while  Thatcher, 
innocent  of  the  presence  of  one  of  his  worst  enemies, 
placated  Bill  so  far  as  to  restore  Wiles  to  his  rights.  Wiles 
thanked  him.  "  Shall  I  have  the  pleasure  of  your  company 
far  ?  "  Wiles  asked  insinuatingly.  "  To  Washington,"  re- 
plied Thatcher  frankly.  "  Washington  is  a  gay  city  during 
the  session,"  again  suggested  the  stranger.  "  I  'm  going  on 
business,"  said  Thatcher  bluntly. 

A  trifling  incident  occurred  at  Pine  Tree  Crossing  which 
did  not  heighten  Yuba  Bill's  admiration  of  the  stranger. 
As  Bill  opened  the  double-locked  box  in  the  "  boot  "  of  the 
coach  —  sacred  to  Wells,  Fargo  &  Co.'s  Express  and  the 
Overland  Company's  treasures  —  Mr.  Wiles  perceived  a 
small,  black,  morocco  portmanteau  among  the  parcels. 
"  Ah,  you  carry  baggage  there  too  ? "  he  said  sweetly. 
"  Not  often,"  responded  Yuba  Bill  shortly.  "  Ah,  this  then 
contains  valuables?  "  "It  belongs  to  that  man  whose  seat 
you've  got,"  said  Yuba  Bill,  who,  for  insulting  purposes  of 
his  own,  preferred  to  establish  the  fiction  that  Wiles  was  an 
interloper,  "  and  ef  he  reckons,  in  a  sorter  mixed  kempeny 
like  this,  to  lock  up  his  portmantle,  I  don't  know  who's 
business  it  is.  Who,"  continued  Bill,  lashing  himself  into 
a  simulated  rage,  "  who,  in  blank,  is  running  this  yer  team  ? 
Hey  ?  Mebbe  you  think,  sittin'  up  thar  on  the  box-seat,  you 
are.  Mebbe  you  think  you  kin  see  'round  corners  with  that 
thar  eye,  and  kin  pull  up  for  teams  'round  corners,  on  down 
grades,  a  mile  ahead  ?  "  But  here  Thatcher,  who  with  some- 
thing of  Launcelot's  concern  for  Modred,  had  a  noble  pity 
for  all  infirmities,  interfered  so  sternly  that  Yuba  Bill  stopped. 

On  the  fourth  day  they  struck  a  blinding  snow-storm 
while  ascending  the  dreary  plateau  that  henceforward  for 
six  hundred  miles  was  to  be  their  road-bed.  The  horses, 
after  floundering  through  the  drift,  gave  out  completely 
on  reaching  the  next  station,  and  the  prospects  ahead,  to 


A  EACE   FOR   IT  87 

all  but  the  experienced  eye,  looked  doubtful.  A  few  pas- 
sengers advised  taking  to  sledges,  others  a  postponement 
of  the  journey  until  the  weather  changed.  Yuba  -Bill 
alone  was  for  pressing  forward  as  they  were.  "  Two  miles 
more  and  we  're  on  the  high  grade,  whar  the  wind  is  strong 
enough  to  blow  you  through  the  windy  and  jist  peart 
enough  to  pack  away  over  them  cliffs  every  inch  of  snow 
that  falls.  I  '11  jist  skirmish  round  in  and  out  o'  them 
drifts  on  these  four  wheels,  whar  ye  can't  drag  one  o'  them 
flat-bottomed  dry  goods  boxes  through  a  drift."  Bill  had 
a  California  whip's  contempt  for  a  sledge.  But  he  was 
warmly  seconded  by  Thatcher,  who  had  the  next  best  thing 
to  experience,  the  instinct  that  taught  him  to  read  character, 
and  take  advantage  of  another  man's  experience.  "  Them 
that  wants  to  stop  kin  do  so,"  said  Bill,  authoritatively, 
cutting  the  Gordian  knot,  "  them  as  wants  to  take  a  sledge 
can  do  so  —  thar  's  one  in  the  barn.  Them  as  wants  to  go 
on  with  me  and  the  relay  will  come  on."  Mr.  Wiies 
selected  the  sledge  and  a  driver,  a  few  remained  for  the 
next  stage,  and  Thatcher,  with  two  others,  decided  to 
accompany  Yuba  Bill.  These  changes  took  up  some  valu- 
able time,  and  the  storm  continuing,  the  stage  was  run 
under  the  shed,  the  passengers  gathering  around  the  station 
fire,  and  not  until  after  midnight  did  Yuba  Bill  put  in  the 
relays.  "  I  wish  you  a  good  journey,"  said  Wiles,  as  he 
drove  from  the  shed  as  Bill  entered.  Bill  vouchsafed  no 
reply,  but  addressing  himself  to  the  driver,  said  curtly,  as 
if  giving  an  order  for  the  delivery  of  goods,  "  Shove  him 
out  at  RaAvlings,"  passed  contemptuously  around  to  the 
tail-board  of  the  sled  and  returned  to  the  harnessing  of  his 
relay. 

The  moon  came  out  and  shone  high  as  Yuba  Bill  once 
more  took  the  reins  in  his  hands.  The  wind,  which  in- 
stantly attacked  them  as  they  reached  the  level,  seemed  to 
make  the  driver's  theory  plausible,  and  for  half  a  mile  th? 


88  THE   STOKY   OF   A   MINE 

road-bed  was  swept  clean  and  frozen  hard.  Farther  on,  a 
tongue  of  snow,  extending  from  a  boulder  to  the  right, 
reached  across  their  path  to  the  height  of  two  or  three  feet. 
But  Yuba  Bill  dashed  through  a  part  of  it,  and  by  skillful 
manoeuvring  circumvented  the  rest.  But  even  as  the 
obstacle  was  passed  the  coach  dropped  with  an  ominous 
lurch  on  one  side,  and  the  off  fore  wheel  flew  off  in  the 
darkness.  Bill  threw  the  horses  back  on  their  haunches, 
but  before  their  momentum  could  be  checked  the  rear  hind 
wheel  slipped  away,  the  vehicle  rocked  violently,  plunged 
backwards  and  forwards,  and  stopped. 

Yuba  Bill  was  on  the  road  in  an  instant  with  his  lantern. 
Then  followed  an  outbreak  of  profanity  which  I  regret,  for 
artistic  purposes,  exceeds  that  generous  limit  which  a  sym- 
pathizing public  has  already  extended  to  me  in  the  explica- 
tion. Let  me  state,  therefore,  that  in  a  very  few  moments 
he  succeeded  in  disparaging  the  characters  of  his  employers, 
their  male  and  female  relatives,  the  coach  builder,  the 
station  keeper,  the  road  on  which  he  traveled  and  the 
travelers  themselves,  with  occasional  broad  expletives  ad- 
dressed to  himself  and  his  own  relatives.  For  the  spirit  of 
this  and  a  more  cultivated  poetry  of  expression,  I  beg  to 
refer  the  temperate  reader  to  the  3d  chapter  of  Job. 

The  passengers  knew  Bill,  and  sat,  conservative,  patient 
and  expectant.  As  yet  the  cause  of  the  catastrophe  was 
not  known.  At  last  Thatcher's  voice  came  from  the  box- 
seat  — 

"  What 's  up,  Bill  ?  " 

"  Not  a  blank  linch-pin  in  the  whole  blank  coach,"  wae 
the  answer. 

There  was  a  dead  silence.  Yuba  Bill  executed  a  wild 
war  dance  of  helpless  rage. 

"  Blank  the  blank  enchanted  thing  to  blank  !  " 

(I  beg  here  to  refer  the  fastidious  and  cultivated  readei 
to  the  only  adjective  I  have  dared  transcribe  of  this  actual 


A   RACE   FOR   IT  89 

oath  which  I  once  had  the  honor  of  hearing.  He  will,  I 
trust,  not  fail  to  recognize  the  old  classic  daemon  in  this 
wild  Western  objurgation.) 

"  Who  did  it  ?  "  asked  Thatcher. 

Yuba  Bill  did  not  reply,  but  dashed  up  again  to  the  box, 
unlocked  the  "  boot,"  and  screamed  out  — 

"  The  man  that  stole  your  portmantle  —  Wiles  !  " 

Thatcher  laughed. 

"  Don't  worry  about  that,  Bill.  A  '  biled  '  shirt,  an  extra 
collar  and  a  few  papers.  Nothing  more." 

Yuba  Bill  slowly  descended.  When  he  reached  the 
ground  he  plucked  Thatcher  aside  by  his  coat  sleeve. 

"  Ye  don't  mean  to  say  ye  had  nothing  in  that  bag  ye 
waz  trying  to  get  away  with  ?  " 

"  No,"  said  the  laughing  Thatcher  frankly. 

"  And  that  Wiles  warn't  one  'o  them  detectives  ?  " 

"  Not  to  my  knowledge,  certainly." 

Yuba  Bill  sighed  sadly  and  returned  to  assist  in  the 
replacing  of  the  coach  on  its  wheels  again. 

"  Never  mind,  Bill,"  said  one  of  the  passengers  sympathiz- 
ingly,  "  we  '11  catch  that  man  Wiles  at  '  Rawlings  '  sure," 
and  he  looked  around  at  the  inchoate  vigilance  committee 
already  "  rounding  into  form  "  about  him. 

"  Ketch  him  !  "  returned  Yuba  Bill  derisively,  "  why 
we  've  got  to  go  back  to  the  station,  and  afore  we  're  off  agin 
he 's  pinted  fur  Clarmont  on  the  relay  we  lose.  Ketch 
him  !  H— 11  's  full  of  such  ketches !  " 

There  was  clearly  nothing  to  do  but  to  go  back  to  the 
station  to  await  the  repairing  of  the  coach.  While  this 
was  being  done  Yuba  Bill  again  drew  Thatcher  aside. 

"  I  allers  suspected  that  chap's  game  eye,  but  I  did  n't 
somehow  allow  for  anything  like  this.  I  reckoned  it  was 
only  the  square  thing  to  look  arter  things  gen'rally,  and 
'specially  your  traps.  So,  to  purvent  trouble  and  keep 
things  about  rekal,  ez  he  was  goin'  away,  I  sorter  lifted  this 


90  THE   STORY   OF  A   MINE 

yer  bag  of  hiz  outer  the  tail-board  of  his  sleigh.  I  don't 
know  as  its  any  ex-change  or  compensation,  but  it  may 
give  ye  a  chance  to  spot  him  agin,  or  him  you.  It  strike? 
me  as  bein'  far-minded  and  squar,"  and  with  these  words 
he  deposited  at  the  feet  of  the  astounded  Thatcher  th< 
black  traveling  bag  of  Mr.  Wiles. 

"  But  Bill  —  see  here  !  I  can't  take  this  !  "  interrupted 
Thatcher  hastily.  "  You  can't  swear  that  he 's  taken  mj 
bag  —  and —  and  —  blank  it  all  —  this  won't  do,  you  know. 
I  've  no  right  to  this  man's  things,  even  if  "  — 

"  Hold  your  bosses,"  said  Bill  gravely,  "  I  ondertook  to 
take  charge  o'  your  traps.  I  did  n't  —  at  least  that  d — d 
wall  eyed  —  Thar 's  a  portmantle.  I  don't  know  whose 
it  is.  Take  it." 

Half  amused,  half  embarrassed,  yet  still  protesting, 
Thatcher  took  the  bag  in  his  hands. 

"  Ye  might  open  it  in  my  presence,"  suggested  Yuba 
Bill  gravely. 

Thatcher,  half-laughingly,  did  so.  It  was  full  of  papers 
and  semi-legal  looking  documents.  Thatcher's  own  name 
on  one  of  them  caught  his  eye  ;  he  opened  the  paper  hastily 
and  perused  it.  The  smile  faded  from  his  lips. 

"  Well,"  said  Yuba  Bill,  "  suppose  we  call  it  a  fair  ex- 
change at  present." 

Thatcher  was  still  examining  the  papers.  Suddenly  this 
cautious,  strong-minded  man  looked  up  into  Yuba  Bill's 
waiting  face,  and  said  quietly,  in  the  despicable  slang  of  the 
epoch  and  region  — 

"  It 's  a  go  !     Suppose  we  do." 


HOW   IT   BECAME   FAMOUS  91 

XIII 

HOW    IT    BECAME    FAMOUS 

Yuba  Bill  was  right  in  believing  that  Wiles  would  lose 
no  time  at  Rawlings.  He  left  there  on  a  fleet  horse  before 
Bill  had  returned  with  the  broken-down  coach  to  the  last 
station,  and  distanced  the  telegram  sent  to  detain  him  two 
hours.  Leaving  the  stage  road  and  its  dangerous  tele- 
graphic stations,  he  pushed  southward  to  Denver  over  the 
army  trail,  in  company  with  a  half-breed  packer,  crossing 
the  Missouri  before  Thatcher  had  reached  Julesburg. 
When  Thatcher  was  at  Omaha,  Wiles  was  already  in  St. 
Louis,  and  as  the  Pullman  car  containing  the  hero  of  the 
"  Blue  Mass  Mine  "  rolled  into  Chicago,  Wiles  was  already 
walking  the  streets  of  the  National  Capital.  Nevertheless 
he  had  time  en  route  to  sink  in  the  waters  of  the  North 
Platte,  with  many  expressions  of  disgust,  the  little  black 
portmanteau  belonging  to  Thatcher,  containing  his  dressing 
case,  a  few  unimportant  letters,  and  an  extra  shirt,  to 
wonder  why  simple  men  did  not  travel  with  their  important 
documents  and  valuables,  and  to  set  on  foot  some  prudent 
and  cautious  inquiries  regarding  his  own  lost  carpet-bag  and 
its  important  contents. 

But  for  these  trifles  he  had  every  reason  to  be  satisfied 
with  the  progress  of  his  plans.  "  It 's  all  right,"  said  Mrs. 
Hopkinson  merrily,  "while  you  and  Gashwiler  have  been 
working  with  your  '  stock  '  and  treating  the  whole  world  as 
if  it  could  be  bribed,  I  've  done  more  with  that  earnest, 
self-believing,  self-deceiving  and  perfectly  pathetic  Ros- 
common  than  all  you  fellows  put  together.  WThy  I  've  told 
his  pitiful  .story  and  drawn  tears  from  the  eyes  of  senators 
and  cabinet  ministers.  More  than  that,  I  've  introduced 
him  into  society,  put  him  in  a  dress  coat  —  such  a  figure  — 


32  THE   STORY   OF   A   MINE 

and  you  know  how  the  best  folk  worship  everything  that  is 
outre  as  the  sincere  thing  ;  I  've  made  him  a  complete  suc- 
cess. Why,  only  the  other  night,  when  Senator  Misnancy 
and  Judge  Fitzdawdle  were  here,  after  making  him  tell  his 
story  —  which  you  -know  I  think  he  really  believes  —  I 
sang,  '  There  came  to  the  beach  a  poor  exile  of  Erin/  and 
my  husband  told  me  afterwards  it  was  worth  at  least  a 
dozen  votes." 

"  But  about  this  rival  of  yours  —  this  niece  of  Gar- 
cia's  ?  " 

"  Another  of  your  blunders  —  you  men  know  nothing  of 
women.  Firstly,  she  's  a  swarthy  little  brunette,  with  dots 
for  eyes,  and  strides  like  a  man,  dresses  like  a  dowdy,  don't 
wear  stays  and  has  no  style.  Then  she  's  a  single  woman 
and  alone,  and  although  she  affects  to  be  an  artist  and  has 
Bohemian  ways,  don't  you  see  she  can't  go  into  society 
without  a  chaperon  or  somebody  to  go  with  her?  Non- 
sense !  " 

"  But,"  persisted  Wiles,  "  she  must  have  some  power ; 
there  's  Judge  Mason  and  Senator  Peabody,  who  are  con- 
stantly talking  about  her,  and  Dinwiddie  of  Virginia  es- 
corted her  through  the  Capitol  the  other  day." 

Mistress  Hopkinson  laughed.  "  Mason  and  Peabody 
aspire  to  be  thought  literary  and  artistic,  and  Dinwiddie 
wanted  to  pique  me  !  " 

"  But  Thatcher  is  no  fool  "  - 

"  Is  Thatcher  a  lady's  man  ?  "  queried  the  lady  suddenly 

"  Hardly,  I  should  say,"  responded  Wiles.  "  He  pre- 
tends to  be  absorbed  in  his  swindle  and  devoted  to  his 
mine,  and  I  don't  think  that  even  you  "  —he  stopped  with 
a  slight  sneer. 

"  There,  you  are  misunderstanding  me  again,  and  what  is 
worse,  you  are  misunderstanding  your  case.  Thatcher  is 
pleased  with  her  because  he  has  probably  seen  no  one  else. 
Wait  till  he  comes  to  Washington  and  has  an  opportunity 


HOW   IT   BECAME   FAMOUS  93 

for  comparison,"  and  she  cast  a  frank  glance  at  her  mirror, 
where  Wiles,  with  a  sardonic  bow,  left  her  standing. 

Mr.  Gashwiler  was  quite  as  confident  of  his  own  success 
with  Congress.  "  We  are  within  a  few  days  of  the  end  of 
the  session.  We  will  manage  to  have  it  taken  up  and 
rushed  through  before  that  fellow  Thatcher  knows  what  he 
is  about." 

"  If  it  could  be  done  before  he  gets  here,"  said  Wiles, 
"  it 's  a  reasonabty  sure  thing.  He  is  delayed  two  days  — 
he  might  have  been  delayed  longer."  Here  Mr.  Wiles 
sighed  ;  if  the  accident  had  happened  on  a  mountain  road, 
and  the  stage  had  been  precipitated  over  the  abyss  ?  What 
valuable  time  would  have  been  saved  and  success  become  a 
surety  !  But  Mr.  Wiles'  functions  as  an  advocate  did  not 
include  murder ;  at  least  he  was  doubtful  if  it  could  be 
taxed  as  costs. 

"  We  need  have  no  fears,  sir,"  resumed  Mr.  Gashwiler, 
"  the  matter  is  now  in  the  hands  of  the  highest  tribunal  of 
appeal  in  the  country.  It  will  meet,  sir,  with  inflexible 
justice.  I  have  already  prepared  some  remarks  "  — 

"  By  the  way,"  interrupted  Wiles  infelicitously,  "  where  's 
your  young  man  —  your  private  secretary  —  Dobbs  ?  " 

The  Congressman  for  a  moment  looked  confused.  "  He 
is  not  here.  And  I  must  correct  your  error  in  applying 
that  term  to  him.  I  have  never  put  my  confidence  in  the 
hands  of  any  one." 

"  But  you  introduced  him  to  me  as  your  secretary  ?  " 

"  A  mere  honorary  title,  sir.  A  brevet  rank.  I  might, 
it  is  true,  have  thought  to  repose  such  a  trust  in  him.  But 
I  was  deceived,  sir,  as  I  fear  I  am  too  apt  to  be  when  I 
permit  my  feelings  as  a  man  to  overcome  my  duty  as  an 
American  legislator.  Mr.  Dobbs  enjoyed  my  patronage 
and  the  opportunity  it  gave  me  to  introduce  him  into  pub- 
lic life  only  to  abuse  it.  He  became,  I  fear,  deeply  in- 
debted. His  extravagance  was  unlimited,  his  ambition 


94  THE   STORY    OF   A   MINE 

unbounded,  but  without,  sir,  a  cash  basis.  I  advanced 
money  to  him  from  time  to  time  upon  the  little  property 
you  so  generously  extended  to  him  for  his  services.  But 
it  was  quietly  dissipated.  Yet,  sir,  such  is  the  ingratitude 
of  man  that  his  family  lately  appealed  to  me  for  assistance. 
I  felt  it  was  necessary  to  be  stern,  and  I  refused.  I  would 
not  for  the  sake  of  his  family  say  anything,  but  I  have 
missed,  sir,  books  from  my  library.  On  the  day  after  he 
left,  two  volumes  of  Patent  Office  reports  and  a  Blue  Book 
of  Congress,  purchased  that  day  by  me  at  a  store  on  Penn- 
sylvania avenue,  were  missing  —  missing  !  I  had  difficulty, 
sir,  great  difficulty  in  keeping  it  from  the  papers  !  " 

As  Mr.  Wiles  had  heard  the  story  already  from  Gash- 
wiler's  acquaintance,  with  more  or  less  free  comment  on  the 
gifted  legislator's  economy,  he  could  not  help  thinking  that 
the  difficulty  had  been  great  indeed.  But  he  only  fixed  his 
malevolent  eye  on  Gashwiler  and  said  — 

"So  he  is  gone,  eh  ?  " 

"  Yes." 

"  And  you  've  made  an  enemy  of  him  ?     That 's  bad." 

Mr.  Gashwiler  tried  to  look  dignifiedly  unconcerned,  but 
something  in  his  visitor's  manner  made  him  uneasy. 

"  I  say  it 's  bad,  if  you  have.  Listen.  Before  I  left 
here  I  found  at  a  boarding-house  where  he  had  boarded,  and 
still  owed  a  bill,  a  trunk  which  the  landlord  retained. 
Opening  it  I  found  some  letters  and  papers  of  yours,  with 
certain  memoranda  of  his,  which  I  thought  ought  to  be  in 
your  possession.  As  an  alleged  friend  of  his  I  redeemed 
the  trunk  by  paying  the  amount  of  his  bill,  and  secured  the 
more  valuable  papers." 

Gashwiler's  face,  which  had  grown  apoplectically  suffused 
as  Wiles  went  on,  at  last  gasped,  "  But  you  got  the  trunk 
and  have  the  papers  ?  " 

"  Unfortunately,  no  ;  and  that 's  why  it 's  bad." 

"  But  good  God  !  what  have  you  done  with  them  ?  " 


HOW   IT   BECAME   FAMOUS  95 

"  I  've  lost  them  somewhere  on  the  Overland  Road." 
Mr.  Gashwiler  sat  for  a  few  moments  speechless,  vacillat- 
ing between  a  purple  rage  and  a  pallid  fear.     Then  he  said 
hoarsely  — 

"  They  are  all  blank  forgeries  —  every  one  of  them." 
"  Oh  no  !  "  said  Wiles,  smiling  blankly  on  his  dexter  side, 
and  enjoying  the  whole  scene  malevolently  with  his  sinistef 
eye.  "  Your  papers  are  all  genuine,  and  I  won't  say  are 
not  all  right,  but  unfortunately  I  had  in  the  same  bag  some 
memoranda  of  my  own  for  the  use  of  my  client,  that,  you 
understand,  might  be  put  to  some  bad  use  if  found  by  a 
clever  man." 

The  two  rascals  looked  at  each  other.  There  is,  on  the 
whole,  really  very  little  "  honor  among  thieves  "  —  at  least 
great  ones ;  and  the  inferior  rascal  succumbed  at  the  reflec- 
tion of  what  he  might  do  if  he  were  in  the  other  rascal's 
place.  "  See  here,  Wiles,"  he  said,  relaxing  his  dignity 
with  the  perspiration  that  oozed  from  every  pore,  and  made 
the  collar  of  his  shirt  a  mere  limp  rag.  "  See  here,  We  " 

—  this  first  use  of  the  plural  was  equivalent  to  a  confession 

—  "we  must  get  them  papers." 

"  Of  course,"  said  Wiles  coolly,  "  if  we  can,  and  if 
Thatcher  don't  get  wind  of  them." 

"  He  cannot." 

"  He  was  on  the  coach  when  I  lost  them,  coming  East." 

Mr.  Gashwiler  paled  again.  In  the  emergency  he  had 
recourse  to  the  sideboard  and  a  bottle,  forgetting  Wiles. 
Ten  minutes  before,  Wiles  would  have  remained  seated  ; 
but  it  is  recorded  that  he  rose,  took  the  bottle  from  the 
gifted  Gashwiler's  fingers,  helped  himself  first  and  then  sat 
down. 

"  Yes,  but,  my  boy,"  said  Gashwiler,  now  rapidly  chang- 
ing situations  with  the  cooler  Wiles,  "  yes,  but,  old  fellow," 
he  added,  poking  Wiles  with  a  fat  forefinger,  "  don't  you 
see  the  whole  thing  will  be  up  before  he  gets  here  ?  " 


96  THE    STORY    OF   A   MINE 

"  Yes,"  said  Wiles  gloomily,  "  but  those  lazy,  easy,  hon- 
est men  have  a  way  of  popping  up  just  at  the  nick  of  time. 
They  never  need  hurry  ;  all  things  wait  for  them.  Why, 
don't  you  remember  that  on  the  very  day  Mrs.  Hopkinson 
and  me  and  you  got  the  President  to  sign  that  patent,  that 
very  day  one  of  them  d — n  fellows  turns  up  from  San 
Francisco  or  Australia,  having  taken  his  own  time  to  get 
here  ;  gets  here  about  half  an  hour  after  the  President  had 
signed  the  patent  and  sent  it  over  to  the  office,  finds  the 
right  man  to  introduce  him  to  the  President,  has  a  talk 
with  him,  makes  him  sign  an  order  countermanding  its 
issuance,  and  undoes  all  that  has  been  done  in  six  years  in 
one  hour." 

"  Yes,  but  Congress  is  a  tribunal  that  does  not  revoke  its 
decrees,"  said  Gashwiler  with  a  return  of  his  old  manner ; 
"  at  least,"  he  added,  observing  an  incredulous  shrug  in  the 
shoulders  of  his  companion,  " at  least  during  the  session" 

"  We  shall  see,"  said  Wiles,  quietly  taking  his  hat. 

"  We  shall  see,  sir,"  said  the  member  from  Remus  with 
dignity. 

XIV 

WHO    INTRIGUED    FOB    IT 

There  was  at  this  time  in  the  Senate  of  the  United  States 
an  eminent  and  respected  gentleman,  scholarly,  orderly, 
honorable  and  radical  —  the  fit  representative  of  a  scholarly, 
orderly,  honorable  and  radical  commonwealth.  For  many 
years  he  had  held  his  trust  with  conscious  rectitude,  and  a 
slight  depreciation  of  other  forms  of  merit,  and  for  as  many 
years  had  been  as  regularly  returned  to  his  seat  by  his  con- 
stituency with  equally  conscious  rectitude  in  themselves. 
and  an  equal  scepticism  regarding  others.  Removed  bj 
his  nature  beyond  the  reach  of  certain  temptations,  and  bj 


WHO   INTRIGUED    FOR   IT  97 

circumstances  beyond  even  the  knowledge  of  others,  his 
social  and  political  integrity  was  spotless.  An  orator  and 
practical  debater,  his  refined  tastes  kept  him  from  person- 
ality, and  the  public  recognition  of  the  complete  unselfish- 
ness of  his  motives  and  the  magnitude  of  his  dogmas,  pro- 
tected him  from  scurrility.  His  principles  had  never  been 
appealed  to  by  a  bribe  ;  he  had  rarely  been  approached  by 
an  emotion.  .  . 

A  man  of  polished  taste  in  art  and  literature,  and  pos- 
sessing the  means  to  gratify  it,  his  luxurious  home  was 
filled  with  treasures  he  had  himself  collected,  and  further 
enhanced  by  the  stamp  of  his  own  appreciation.  His 
library  had  not  only  the  elegance  of  adornment  that  his 
wealth  could  bring  and  his  taste  approve,  but  a  certain 
refined  negligence  of  habitual  use  and  the  easy  disorder  ot 
the  artist's  .workshop.  All  this  was  quickly  noted  by  a 
young  girl  who  stood  on  its  threshold  at  the  close  of  a  dvM 
January  day. 

The  card  that  had  been  brought  to  the  Senator  bore 
the  name  of  "  Carmen  de  Haro,"  and  modestly,  in  the 
right-hand  corner,  in  almost  microscopic  script,  the  further 
description  of  herself  as  "  Artist."  Perhaps  the  pictur- 
esqueness  of  the  name  and  its  historic  suggestion  caught  th^ 
scholar's  taste,  for,  when  to  his  request,  through  his  servant, 
that  she  would  be  kind  enough  to  state  her  business,  she 
replied  as  frankly  that  her  business  was  personal  to  himself, 
he  directed  that  she  should  be  admitted.  Then,  entrench- 
ing himself  behind  his  library  table,  overlooking  a  bastion 
of  books,  and  a  glacis  of  pamphlets  and  papers,  and  throw- 
ing into  his  forehead  and  eyes  an  expression  of  utter  dis- 
qualification for  anything  but  the  business  before  him,  he 
calmly  awaited  the  intruder. 

She  came,  and  for  an  instant  stood,  hesitatingly,  framing 
herself  as  a  picture  in  the  door.  Mrs.  Hopkinson  was 
right  —  she  had  "  no  style,"  unless  an  original  and  half 


98  THE    STORY   OF   A   MINE 

foreign  quaintness  could  be  called  so.  There  was  a  des- 
perate  attempt  visible  to  combine  an  American  shawl  with 
the  habits  of  a  mantilla,  and  it  was  always  slipping  from 
one  shoulder,  that  was  so  supple  and  vivacious  as  to  betray 
the  deficiencies  of  an  education  in  stays.  There  was  a 
cluster  of  black  curls  around  her  low  forehead,  fitting  her 
so  closely  as  to  seem  to  be  a  part  of  the  seal-skin  cap  she 
wore.  Once,  from  the  force  of  habit,  she  attempted  to 
put  her  shawl  over  her  head  and  talk  through  the  folds 
gathered  under  her  chin,  but  an  astonished  look  from  the 
Senator  checked  her.  Nevertheless,  he  felt  relieved,  and, 
rising,  motioned  her  to  a  chair  with  a  heartiness  he  would 
have  scarcely  shown  to  a  Parisian  toilleta.  And  when,  with 
two  or  three  quick,  long  steps,  she  reached  his  side,  and 
showed  a  frank,  innocent,  but  strong  and  determined  little 
face,  feminine  only  in  its  flash  of  eye  and  beauty  of  lip  and 
chin  curves,  he  put  down  the  pamphlet  he  had  taken  up 
somewhat  ostentatiously,  and  gently  begged  to  know  her 
business. 

I  think  I  have  Once  before  spoken  of  her  voice  —  an 
organ  more  often  cultivated  by  my  fair  countrywomen  for 
singing  than  for  speaking,  which,  considering  that  much 
of  our  practical  relations  with  the  sex  are  carried  on  with- 
out the  aid  of  an  opera  score,  seems  a  mistaken  notion  of 
theirs  —  and  of  its  sweetness,  gentle  inflection  and  musical 
emphasis.  She  had  the  advantage  of  having  been  trained 
in  a  musical  language,  and  came  of  a  race  with  whom 
catarrhs  and  sore  throats  were  rare.  So  that  in  a  few  brief 
phrases  she  sang  the  Senator  into  acquiescence  as  she 
imparted  the  plain  libretto  of  her  business  —  namely,  a 
"  desire  to  see  some  of  his  rare  engravings." 

Now  the  engravings  in  question  were  certain  etchings 
of  the  early  great  -apprentices  of  the  art,  and  were,  I  am 
happy  to  believe,  extremely  rare.  From  my  unprofessional 
view  they  were  exceedingly  bad  —  showing  the  mere  genesis 


WHO   INTRIGUED   FOR   IT  99 

of  something  since  perfected,  but  dear,  of  course,  to  the 
true  collector's  soul.  I  don't  believe  that  Carmen  really 
admired  them  either.  But  the  minx  knew  that  the  Senator 
prided  himself  on  having  the  only  "pot-hooks"  of  the 
great  "  A  "  or  the  first  artistic  efforts  of  "  B  "  —  I  leave 
the  real  names  to  be  filled  in  by  the  connoisseur  —  and  the 
Senator  became  interested.  For  the  last  year,  two  or  three 
of  these  abominations  had  been  hanging  in  his  study,  ut- 
terly ignored  by  the  casual  visitor.  But  here  was  appre- 
ciation !  "  She  was,"  she  added,  "  only  a  poor  young 
artist,  unable  to  purchase  such  treasures,  but  equally  un- 
able to  resist  the  opportunity  afforded  her,  even  at  the  risk 
of  seeming  bold,  or  of  obtruding  upon  a  great  man's  pri- 
vacy," etc.,  etc. 

This  flattery,  which,  if  offered  in  the  usual  legal  tender 
of  the  country,  would  have  been  looked  upon  as  counter- 
feit, delivered  here  in  a  foreign  accent,  with  a  slightly 
tropical  warmth,  was  accepted  by  the  Senator  as  genuine. 
These  children  of  the  Sun  are  so  impulsive !  We,  of 
course,  feel  a  little  pity  for  the  person  who  thus  transcends 
our  standard  of  good  taste  and  violates"  our  conventional 
canons  —  but  they  are  always  sincere.  The  cold  New 
Englander  saw  nothing  wrong  in  one  or  two  direct  and 
extravagant  compliments,  that  would  have  insured  his 
visitor's  early  dismissal  if  tendered  in  the  clipped  metallic 
phrases  of  the  commonwealth  he  represented. 

So  that  in  a  few  moments  the  black,  curly  head  of  the 
little  artist  and  the  white,  flowing  locks  of  the  Senator  were 
close  together  bending  over  the  rack  that  contained  the 
engravings.  It  was  then  that  Carmen,  listening  to  a 
graphic  description  of  the  early  rise  of  Art  in  the  Nether- 
lands, forgot  herself  and  put  her  shawl  around  her  head, 
holding  its  folds  in  her  little  brown  hand.  In  this  situation 
they  were,  at  different  times  during  the  next  two  hours, 
interrupted  by  five  Congressmen,  three  Senators,  a  Cabinet 


100  THE   STORY   OF  A   MINE 

officer,  and  a  Judge  of  the  Supreme  Bench  —  each  of  whom 
was  quickly  but  courteously  dismissed.  Popular  sentiment, 
however,  broke  out  in  the  hall. 

"  Well,  I  'm  blanked,  but  this  gets  me."  (The  speaker 
was  a  Territorial  delegate.) 

.  "  At  his  time  o'  life,  too,  lookin'  over  pictures  with  a  gal 
young  enough  to  be  his  grandchild."  (This  from  a  vener- 
able official,  since  suspected  of  various  erotic  irregularities.) 

"She  don't  handsome  any."  (The  honorable  member 
from  Dakotah.) 

"  This  accounts  for  his  protracted  silence  during  the 
session."  (A  serious  colleague  from  the  Senator's  own 
State.) 

"  Oh,  blank  it  all !  "      (Omnes.} 

Four  went  home  to  tell  their  wives.  There  are  few 
things  more  touching  in  the  matrimonial  compact  than  the 
superb  frankness  with  which  each  confide  to  each  the  various 
irregularities  of  their  friends.  It  is  upon  these  sacred  con- 
fidences that  the  firm  foundations  of  marriage  rest  un- 
shaken. 

Of  course  the  objects  of  this  comment,  at  least  one  of 
them,  were  quite  oblivious.  "  I  trust,"  said  Carmen  timidly, 
when  they  had  for  the  fourth  time  regarded  in  rapt  admira- 
tion an  abominable  something  by  some  Dutch  wood-chop- 
per, "  I  trust  I  am  not  keeping  you  from  your  great  friends," 
- —  her  pretty  eyelids  were  cast  down  in  tremulous  distress 
—  "  I  should  never  forgive  myself.  Perhaps  it  is  impor- 
tant business  of  the  State  ?  " 

"  Oh  dear,  no  !  They  will  come  again  —  it  's  their 
business." 

The  Senator  meant  it  kindly.  It  was  as  near  the  perilous 
edge  of  a  compliment  as  your  average  cultivated  Boston 
man  ever  ventures.,  and  Carmen  picked  it  up,  femininely, 
by  its  sentimental  end.  "  And  I  suppose  /  shall  not 
trouble  you  again  ?  " 


WHO   INTRIGUED   FOR   IT  101 

"  I  shall  always  be  proud  to  place  the  portfolio  at  your 
disposal.  Command  me  at  any  time,"  said  the  Senator, 
with  dignity. 

"  You  are  kind.  You  are  good,"  said  Carmen,  "  and  I  — 
I  am  but  —  look  you  —  only  a  poor  girl  from  California, 
that  you  know  not." 

"  Pardon  me.  I  know  your  country  well."  And  indeed 
he  could  have  told  her  the  exact  number  of  bushels  of 
wheat  to  the.  acre  in  her  own  county  of  Monterey,  its  voting 
population,  its  political  bias.  Yet  of  the  more  important 
product  before  him,  after  the  manner  of  book-read  men,  he 
knew  nothing. 

Carmen  was  astonished,  but  respectful.  It  transpired 
presently  that  she  was  not  aware  of  the  rapid  growth  of  the 
silk-worm  in  her  own  district,  knew  nothing  of  the  Chinese 
question,  and  very  little  of  the  American  mining  laws. 
Upon  these  questions  the  Senator  enlightened  her  fully. 
"  Your  name  is  historic,  by  the  way,"  he  said  pleasantly ; 
"  there  was  a  Knight  of  Alcantara,  a  (  de  Haro,'  one  of  the 
emigrants  with  Las  Casas." 

Carmen  nodded  her  head  quickly,  "  Yes ;   my  great-great-  * 
great-g-r-e-a-t  grandfather !  " 

The  Senator  stared. 

"  Oh  yes.  I  am  the  niece  of  Victor  Castro,  who  married 
my  father's  sister." 

"  The  Victor  Castro  of  the  Blue  Mass  Mine  ?  "  asked 
the  Senator  abruptly. 

"  Yes,"  quietly. 

Had  the  Senator  been  of  the  Gashwiler  type,  he  would 
have  expressed  himself,  after  the  average  masculine  fashion, 
by  a  long-drawn  whistle.  But  his  only  perceptible  appre- 
ciation of  a  sudden  astonishment  and  suspicion  in  his  mind 
was  a  lowering  of  the  social  thermometer  of  the  room  so 
decided  that  poor  Carmen  looked  up  innocently,  chilled, 
and  drawing  her  shawl  closer  round  her  shoulders. 


102  THE    STOEY    OF   A   MINE 

'•'  I  have  something  more  to  ask,"  said  Carmen,  hanging 
her  head —  "  it  is  a  great,  oh,  a  very  great  favor." 

The  Senator  had  retreated  behind  his  bastion  of  books 
again,  and  was  visibly  preparing  for  an  assault.  lie  saw  it 
all  now.  He  had  been,  in  some  vague  way,  deluded.  He 
had  given  confidential  audience  to  the  niece  of  one  of  the 
Great  Claimants  before  Congress.  The  inevitable  axe  had 
come  to  the  grindstone.  What  might  not  this  woman  dare 
ask  of  him  ?  He  was  the  more  implacable  that  he  felt  he 
had  already  been  prepossessed  —  and  honestly  prepossessed 

—  in  her  favor.      He  was  angry  with  her  for  having  pleased 
him.      Under  the  icy  polish  of  his  manner  there  were  certain 
Puritan   callosites  caused  by  early   strait-lacing.     He   was 
not  yet  quite  free  from  his  ancestor's  cheerful  ethics,   that 
Nature,  as  represented  by  an  Impulse,  was  as  much  to  be 
restrained  as  Order  represented  by  a  Quaker. 

Without  apparently  noticing  his  manner,  Carmen  went 
on,  with  a  certain  potential  freedom  of  style,  gesture,  and 
manner  scarcely  to  be  indicated  in  her  mere  words.  "  You 
know,  then,  I  am  of  Spanish  blood,  and  that,  in  what  was 
my  adopted  country,  our  motto  was,  '  God  and  Liberty.' 
It  was  of  you,  sir  —  the  great  Emancipator  —  the  apostle  of 
that  Liberty  —  the  friend  of  the  down-trodden  and  op- 
pressed —  that  I,  as  a  child,  first  knew.  In  the  histories 
of  this  great  country  I  have  read  of  you,  I  have  learned 
your  orations.  I  have  longed  to  hear  you  in  jrour  own 
pulpit  deliver  the  creed  of  my  ancestors.  To  hear  you,  of 
yourself,  speak,  ah  !  Madre  de  Dios  !  what  shall  I  say  — 
speak  the  oration  eloquent  to  make  the  —  what  you  call 

—  the  debate,  that  is  what  I  have  for  so  long  hoped.     Eh  ! 
Pardon  —  you  are  thinking  me  foolish  —  wild,  eh  — a  small 
child  —  eh  ?  " 

Becoming  more  and  more  dialectical  as  she  went  on,  she 
eaid  suddenly,  "  I  have  you  of  myself  offended.  You  are 
mad  of  me  as  a  bold,  bad  child  ?  Is  it  so  ?  " 


WHO   INTRIGUED   FOR   IT  103 

The  Senator,  as  visibly  becoming  limp  and  weak  again 
behind  his  entrenchments,  managed  to  say,*  "Oh,  no!" 
then,  "  Really  !  "  and  finally,  "  Tha-a-nks !  " 

"  I  am  here  but  for  a  day.  I  return  to  California  in  a 
day,  as  it  were  to-morrow.  I  shall  never  —  never  hear 
you  speak  in  your  place  in  the  Capitol  of  this  great  coun- 
try ?  " 

The  Senator  said,  hastily,  that  he  feared,  he  in  fact  was 
convinced,  that  his  duty  during  this  session  was  required 
more  at  his  desk,  in  the  committee  work,  than  in  speak- 
ing, etc.,  etc. 

"Ah,"  said  Carmen,  sadly,  "it  is  true,  then,  all  this  that 
I  have  heard.  It  is  true  that  what  they  have  told  me  — 
that  you  have  given  up  the  great  party  —  that  your  voice  is 
not  longer  heard  in  the  old  —  what  you  call  this  —  eh  — 
the  old  issues  ?  " 

"  If  any  one  has  told  you  that,  Miss  De  Haro,"  re- 
sponded the  Senator,  sharply,  "  he  has  spoken  foolishly. 
You  have  been  misinformed.  May  I  ask  who  "  — 

"  Ah  !  "  said  Carmen,  "  I  know  not !  It  is  in  the  air  ! 
I  am  a  stranger.  Perhaps  I  am  de-ceived.  But  it  is  of  all. 
I  say  to  them,  When  shall  I  hear  him  speak  ?  I  go  day 
after  day  to  the  Capitol,  I  watch  him  —  the  great  Emanci- 
pator —  but  it  is  of  business,  eh  ?  —  it  is  the  claim  of  that 
one,  it  is  the  Tax,  eh  ?  it  is  the  Impost,  it  is  the  Post- 
office,  but  it  is  the  great  speech  of  Human  Rights  —  never, 
NEVER.  I  say,  '  How  arrives  all  this  ? '  And  some  say 
and  shake  their  heads,  'Never  again  he  speaks.'  He  is 
what  you  call  '  played '  —  yes,  it  is  so,  eh  ?  '  played  out.' 
I  know  it  not  —  it  is  a  word  from  Bos-ton,  perhaps  ? 
They  say  he  has  —  eh,  I  speak  not  the  English  well  —  the 
party  he  has  '  shaken,'  '  shook  '  —  yes  —  he  has  the  Party 
*  shaken,'  eh  ?  It  is  right  —  it  is  the  language  of  Boston, 
eh?" 

"  Permit  me  to  say,  Miss  De  Haro,"  returned  the  Sen- 


104  THE    STORY   OF   A   MINE 

ator,  rising  with  some  asperity,  "  that  you  seem  to  have 
been  unfortunate  in  your  selection  of  acquaintances,  and 
still  more  -so  in  your  ideas  of  the  derivations  of  the  Eng- 
lish tongue.  The  —  er  —  the  —  er  —  expressions  you  have 
quoted  are  not  common  to  Boston,  but  emanate,  I  believe, 
from  the  West." 

Carmen  De  Haro  contritely  buried  everything  but  hex 
black  eyes  in  her  shawl. 

"No  one,"  he  continued  more  gently,  sitting  down  again, 
"  has  the  right  to  forecast  from  my  past  what  I  intend  to 
do  in  the  future,  or  designate  the  means  I  may  choose  to 
serve  the  principles  I  hold  or  the  Party  I  represent.  Those 
are  my  functions.  At  the  same  time,  should  occasion  —  or 
opportunity  —  for  we  are  within  a  day  or  two  of  the  close 
of  the  Session  "  — 

"  Yes,"  interrupted  Carmen,  sadly,  "  I  see  —  it  will  be 
some  business,  some  claim,  something  for  somebody  —  ah  ! 
Madre  de  Dios  — you  will  not  speak,  and  I"  — 

"  When  do  you  think  of  returning  ?  "  asked  the  Senator, 
with  grave  politeness,  "  when  are  we  to  lose  you  ?  " 

"  I  shall  stay  to  the  last  —  to  the  end  of  the  Session," 
said  Carmen.  "  And  now  I  shall  go."  She  got  up  and 
pulled  her  shawl  viciously  over  her  shoulders  with  a  pretty 
pettishness,  perhaps  the  most  feminine  thing  she  had  done 
that  evening.  Possibly,  the  most  genuine. 

The  Senator  smiled  affably  :  "  You  do  not  deserve  to 
be  disappointed  in  either  case ;  but  it  is  later  than  you 
imagine  ;  let  me  help  you  on  the  shorter  distance  with  my 
carriage ;  it  is  at  the  door." 

He  accompanied  her  gravely  to  the  carriage.  As  it 
rolled  away  she  buried  her  little  figure  in  its  ample  cushions 
and  chuckled  to  herself,  albeit  a  little  hysterically.  When 
she  had  reached  her  destination  she  found  herself  crying, 
and  hastily,  and  somewhat  angrily,  dried  her  eyes  as  she 
drew  up  at  the  door  of  her  lodgings. 


HOW   IT   BECAME   UNFINISHED   BUSINESS  105 

"  How  have  you  prospered  ?  "  asked  Mr.  Harlowe,  of 
couusel  for  Royal  Thatcher,  as  he  gallantly  assisted  her 
from  the  carriage.  "  I  have  been  waiting  here  for  two 
hours ;  your  interview  must  have  been  prolonged  —  that  was 
a  good  sign." 

"  Don't  ask  me  now,"  said  Carmen,  a  little  savagely, 
"  I  'm  worn  out  and  tired." 

Mr.  Harlowe  bowed.  "  I  trust  you  will  be  better  to- 
morrow, for  we  expect  our  friend,  Mr.  Thatcher." 

Carmen's  brown  cheek  flushed  slightly.  "  He  should 
have  been  here  before.  Where  is  he  ?  What  was  he 
doing  ?  " 

"  He  was  snowed  up  on  the  plains.  He  is  coming  as 
fast  as  steam  can  carry  him,  but  he  may  be  too  late." 

Carmen  did  not  reply. 

The  lawyer  lingered.  "How  did  you  find  the  great 
New  England  Senator  ?  "  he  asked,  with  a  slight  profes- 
sional levity. 

Carmen  was  tired,  Carmen  was  worried,  Carmen  was  a 
little  self-reproachful,  and  she  kindled  easily.  Conse- 
quently she  said  icily  — 

"  I  found  him  a  gentleman  !  " 

XV 

HOW    IT    BECAME    UNFINISHED    BUSINESS 

The  closing  of  the  LXIX  Congress  was  not  unlike  the 
closing  of  the  several  preceding  Congresses.  There  was 
the  same  unbusiness  -  like,  impractical  haste;  the  same 
hurried,  unjust,  and  utterly  inadequate  adjustment  of  un- 
finished, ill-digested  business,  that  would  not  have  been 
tolerated  for  a  moment  by  the  sovereign  people  in  any 
private  interest  they  controlled.  There  were  frauds  rushed 
through ;  there  were  long  -  suffering,  righteous  demands 


106  THE    STORY    OF   A    MINE 

shelved ;  there  were  honest,  unpaid  debts  dishonored  by 
scant  appropriations ;  there  were  closing  scenes  which 
only  the  saving  sense  of  American  humor  kept  from  being 
utterly  vile.  The  actors,  the  legislators  themselves,  knew 
it  and  laughed  at  it ;  the  commentators,  the  Press,  knew  it 
and  laughed  at  it ;  the  audience,  the  great  American  peo- 
ple knew  it  and  laughed  at  it.  And  nobody  for  an  in- 
stant conceived  that  it  ever,  under  any  circumstances,  might 
be  otherwise. 

The  claim  of  Roscommon  was  among  the  Unfinished 
Business.  The  claimant  himself,  haggard,  pathetic,  impor- 
tunate and  obstinate,  was  among  the  Unfinished  Business. 
Various  Congressmen,  more  or  less  interested  in  the  success 
of  the  claim,  were  among  the  Unfinished  Business.  The 
member  from  Fresno,  who  had  changed  his  derringer  for  a 
speech  against  the  claimant,  was  among  the  Unfinished 
Business.  The  gifted  Gashwiler,  uneasy  in  his  soul  ever 
certain  other  unfinished  business  in  the  shape  of  his  missing 
letters,  but  dropping  oil  and  honey  as  he  mingled  with  his 
brothers,  was  King  of  Misrule  and  Lord  of  the  Unfinished 
Business.  Pretty  Mrs.  Hopkinson,  prudently  escorted  by 
her  husband,  but  imprudently  ogled,  by  admiring  Congress- 
men, lent  the  charm  of  her  presence  to  the  finishing  of  Un- 
finished Business.  One  or  two  editors,  who  had  dreams  of 
a  finished  financial  business,  arising  out  of  unfinished  busi- 
ness, were  there  also,  like  ancient  bards,  to  record  with 
paean  or  threnody  the  completion  of  Unfinished  Business. 
Various  unclean  birds,  scenting  carrion  in  Unfinished  Busi- 
ness, hovered  in  the  halls  or  roosted  in  the  Lobby. 

The  lower  house,  under  the  tutelage  of  their  gifted  Gash- 
wiler, drank  deeply  of  Roscommon  and  his  intoxicating 
claim,  and  passed  the  half  empty  bottle  to  the  Senate  a? 
Unfinished  Business.  But  alas  !  in  the  very  rush  and  storm 
and  tempest  of  the  finishing  business,  an  unlooked-for  inter- 
ruption arose  in  the  person  of  a  great  Senator  whose  powe* 


HOW    IT   BECAME   UNFINISHED   BUSINESS  lt/7 

none  could  oppose,  whose  right  to  free  and  extended  utter- 
ance at  all  times  none  could  gainsay.  A  claim  for  poultry, 
violently  seized  by  the  army  of  Sherman  during  his  march 
through  Georgia,  from  the  hen-coop  of  an  alleged  loyal 
Irishman,  opened  a  constitutional  question,  and  with  it  the 
lips  of  the  great  Senator. 

For  seven  hours  he  spoke  eloquently,  earnestly,  con- 
vincingly. For  seven  hours  the  old  issues  of  party  and 
policy  were  severally  taken  up  and  dismissed  in  the  old 
forcible  rhetoric -that  had  early  made  him  famous.  Inter- 
ruption from  other  Senators,  now  forgetful  of  Unfinished 
Business  and  wild  with  reanimated  party  zeal  ;  interruptions 
from  certain  Senators  mindful  of  Unfinished  Business,  and 
unable  to  pass  the  Roscommon  bottle,  only  spurred  him  to 
fresh  exertion.  The  tocsin  sounded  in  the  Senate  was  heard 
in  the  lower  house.  Highly  excited  members  congregated 
at  the  doors  of  the  Senate,  and  left  Unfinished  Business  to 
take  care  of  itself. 

Left  to  itself  for  seven  hours,  Unfinished  Business 
gnashed  its  false  teeth  and  tore  its  wig  in  impotent  fury  in 
corridor  and  hall.  For  seven  hours  the  gifted  G'ashwiler 
had  continued  the  manufacture  of  oil  and  honey,  whose 
sweetness,  however,  was  slowly  palling  upon  the  Congres- 
sional lip  ;  for  seven  hours  Roscommon  and  friends  beat 
with  impatient  feet  the  lobby  and  shook  fists,  more  or  less 
discolored,  at  the  distinguished  Senator.  For  seven  hours 
the  one  or  two  editors  were  obliged  to  sit  and  calmly  compli- 
ment the  great  speech  which  that  night  flashed  over  the 
wires  of  a  continent  with  the  old  electric  thrill.  And, 
worse  than  all,  they  were  obliged  to  record  with  it  the 
closing  of  the  LXIX  Congress,  with  more  than  the  usual 
amount  of  Unfinished  Business. 

A  little  group  of  friends  surrounded  the  great  Senator 
with  hymns  of  praise  and  congratulations.  Old  adversaries 
saluted  him  courteously  as  they  passed  by,  with  the  respect 


108  THE    STORY    OF   A    MINE 

of  strong  men.  A  little  woman  with  a  shawl  drawn  over  het 
shoulders,  and  held  with  one  small  brown  hand,  approached 
him  timidly  — 

"  I  speak  not  the  English  well,"  she  said  gently,  "  but  I 
have  read  much.  I  have  read  in  the  plays  of  your  Shake- 
speare. I  would  like  to  say  to  you  the  words  of  Rosalind 
to  Orlando,  when  he  did  fight :  '  Sir,  you  have  wrestled 
well,  and  have  overthrown  more  than  your  enemies.'  "  And 
with  these  words  she  was  gone. 

Yet  not  so  quickly  but  that  pretty  Mrs.  Hopkinson/ 
coming  —  as  Victrix  always  comes  to  Victor  —  to  thank  the 
great  Senator,  albeit  the  faces  of  her  escorts  were  shrouded 
in  gloom,  saw  the  shawled  figure  disappear. 

"  There,"  she  said,  pinching  Wiles  mischievously,  "  there  ! 
that 's  the  woman  you  were  afraid  of.  Look  at  her.  Look 
at  that  dress.  Ah,  heavens  !  look  at  that  shawl.  Did  n't 
I  tell  you  she  had  no  style  ?  " 

"  Who  is  she  ?  "  said  Wiles  sullenly. 

"  Carmen  de  Haro,  of  course,"  said  the  lady  vivaciously. 
"  WThat  are  you  hurrying  away  so  for  ?  You  're  absolutely 
pulling  me  along." 

Mr.  Wiles  had  just  caught  sight  of  the  travel-worn  face 
of  Royal  Thatcher  among  the  crowd  that  thronged  the  stair- 
case. Thatcher  appeared  pale  and  distrait ;  Mr.  Harlowe, 
his  counsel,  at  his  side,  rallied  him. 

"  No  one  would  think  you  had  just  got  a  new  lease  of 
your  property,  and  escaped  a  great  swindle.  What's  the 
matter  with  you  ?  Miss  De  Haro  passed  us  just  now.  It 
was  she  who  spoke  to  the  Senator.  Why  did  you  not 
recognize  her  ?  " 

"  I  was  thinking,"  said  Thatcher  gloomily. 

"  Well,  you  take  things  coolly  !  And  certainly  you  are 
not  very  demonstrative  towards  the  woman  who  saved  you 
to-day.  For  as  sure  as  you  live  it  was  she  who  drew  that 
speech  out  of  the  Senator." 


AND   WHO   FORGOT   IT  109 

Thatcher  did  not  reply,  but  moved  away.  He  had 
noticed  Carmen  de  Haro,  and  was  about  to  greet  her  with 
mingled  pleasure  and  embarrassment.  But  he  had  heard 
her  compliment  to  the  Senator,  and  this  strong,  preoccupied, 
automatic  man,  who  only  ten  days  before  had  no  thought 
beyond  his  property,  was  now  thinking  more  of  that  compli- 
ment to  another  than  of  his  success  —  and  was  beginning  to 
hate  the  Senator  who  had  saved  him,  the  lawyer  who  stood 
beside  him,  and  even  the  little  figure  that  had  tripped  down 
the  steps  unconscious  of  him. 

XVI 

AND    WHO    FORGOT    IT 

It  was  somewhat  inconsistent  with  Royal  Thatcher's  em- 
barrassment and  sensitiveness  that  he  should,  on  leaving  the 
Capitol,  order  a  carriage  and  drive  directly  to  the  lodgings 
of  Miss  De  Haro.  That  on  finding  she  was  not  at  home 
he  should  become  again  sulky  and  suspicious,  and  even  be 
ashamed  of  the  honest  impulse  that  led  him  there,  was,  I 
suppose,  man-like  and  natural.  He  felt  that  he  had  done 
all  that  courtesy  required :  he  had  promptly  answered  her 
despatch  with  his  presence.  If  she  chose  to  be  absent  at 
such  a  moment,  he  had  at  least  done  his  duty.  In  short, 
there  was  scarcely  any  absurdity  of  the  imagination  which, 
this  once  practical  man  did  not  permit  himself  to  indulge 
in,  yet  always  with  a  certain  consciousness  that  he  was  al- 
lowing his  feelings  to  run  away  with  him —  a  fact  that  did 
not  tend  to  make  him  better  humored,  and  rather  inclined 
him  to  place  the  responsibility  of  the  elopement  on  some- 
body else.  If  Miss  De  Haro  had  been  home,  etc.,  etc., 
and  not  going  into  ecstacies  over  speeches,  etc.,  etc.,  and 
had  attended  to  her  business  —  i.  e.,  being  exactly  what  he 
had  supposed  her  to  be  —  all  this  would  not  have  happened. 


110  THE    STORY   OF   A   MINE 

I  am  aware  that  this  will  not  heighten  the  reader's  re- 
3pect  for  my  hero.  But  I  fancy  that  the  imperceptible 
progress  of  a  sincere  passion  in  the  matured  strong  man  is 
apt  to  be  marked  with  even  more  than  the  usual  hftste  arid 
absurdity  of  callous  youth.  The  fever  that  runs  riot  in  the 
veins  of  the  robust  is  apt  to  pass  your  ailing  weakling  by. 
Possibly  there  may  be  some  immunity  in  inoculation.  It  is 
Lothario  who  is  always  self-possessed  and  does  and  says  the 
right  thing,  while  poor  honest  Cselebs  becomes  ridiculous 
with  genuine  emotion. 

He  rejoined  his  lawyer  in  no  very  gracious  mood.  The 
chambers  occupied  by  Mr.  Harlowe  were  in  the  basement 
of  a  private  dwelling  once  occupied  and  made  historic  by 
an  Honorable  Somebody,  who,  however,  was  remembered 
only  by  the  landlord  and  the  last  tenant.  There  were  various 
shelves  in  the  walls  divided  into  compartments,  sarcastically 
known  as  "  pigeon-holes,"  in  which  the  dove  of  peace  had 
never  jested,  but  which  still  perpetuated,  in  their  legends, 
the  feuds  and  animosities  of  suitors  now  but  common  dust 
together.  There  was  a  portrait,  apparently  of  a  cherub, 
which  on  nearer  inspection  turned  out  to  be  a  famous  Eng- 
lish Lord  Chancellor  in  his  flowing  wig.  There  were  books' 
with  dreary,  unenlivening  titles  —  egotistic  always,  as  re- 
cording Smith's  opinions  on  this,  and  Jones's  commentaries- 
on  that.  There  was  a  handbill  tacked  on  the  wall,  which  at 
first  offered  hilarious  suggestions  of  a  circus  or  a  steamboat 
excursion,  but  which  turned  out  only  to  be  a  sheriffs  sale. 
There  were  several  oddly-shaped  packages  in  newspaper 
wrappings,  mysterious  and  awful  in  dark  corners,  that  might 
have  contained  forgotten  law  papers  or  the  previous  week's 
washing  of  the  eminent  counsel.  There  were  one  or  two 
newspapers,  which  at  first  offered  entertaining  prospects  to 
the  waiting  client,  but  always  proved  to  be  a  law  record  or 
a  Supreme  Court  decision.  There  was  the  bust  of  a  late 
distinguished  jurist,  which  apparently  had  never  been  dusted 


AND   WHO   FORGOT   IT  111 

since  he  himself  became  dust,  and  had  already  grown  a  per- 
ceptibly dusty  moustache  on  his  severely-judicial  upper  lip. 
It  was  a  cheerless  place  in  the  sunshine  of  day ;  at  night, 
when  it  ought,  by  every  suggestion  of  its  dusty  past,  to 
have  been  left  to  the  vengeful  ghosts,  the  greater  part  of 
whose  hopes  and  passions  were  recorded  and  gathered 
there  —  when  in  the  dark  the  dead  hands  of  forgotten  men 
were  stretched  from  their  dusty  graves  to  fumble  once  more 
for  their  old  title  deeds  —  at  night,  when  it  was  lit  up  by 
flaring  gaslight,  the  hollow  mockery  of  this  dissipation  was 
so  apparent  that  people  in  the  streets,  looking  through  the 
illuminated  windows,  felt  as  if  the  privacy  of  a  family  vault 
had  been  intruded  upon  by  body-snatchers. 

Royal  Thatcher  glanced  around  the  room,  took  in  all  its 
dreary  suggestions  in  a  half-weary,  half-indifferent  sort  of 
way,  and  dropped  into  the  lawyer's  own  revolving  chair  as 
that  gentleman  entered  from  the  adjacent  room. 

"  Well,  you  got  back  soon,  I  see,"  said  Harlowe  briskly. 

"  Yes,"  said  his  client  without  looking  up,  and  with  this 
notable  distinction  between  himself  and  all  other  previous 
clients,  that  he  seemed  absolutely  less  interested  than  the 
lawyer.  "Yes,  I  'm  here,  and  upon  my  soul  I  don't  exactly 
know  why." 

"  You  told  me  of  certain  papers  you  had  discovered," 
said  the  lawyer  suggestively. 

"  Oh  yes,"  returned  Thatcher  with  a  slight  yawn.  "  I've 
got  here  some  papers  somewhere  "  —  he  began  to  feel  in  his 
coat-pocket  languidly  —  "  but,  by  the  way,  this  is  a  rather 
dreary  and  God-forsaken  sort  of  place  !  Let 's  go  up  to 
Welcker's,  and  you  can  look  at  them  over  a  bottle  of 
champagne." 

"  After  I  've  looked  at  them,  I  've  something  to  show  you 
myself,"  said  Harlowe,  "  and  as  for  the  champagne,  we  '11 
have  that  in  the  other  room,  by  and  by.  At  present  I  want 
to  have  my  head  clear,  and  yours  too  —  if  you  '11  oblige  me 


U2  THE   STORY   OE   A   MINE 

by  becoming  sufficiently  interested  in  your  own  affairs  to 
talk  to  me  about  them." 

Thatcher  was  gazing  abstractedly  at  the  fire.  He  started. 
"  I  dare  say,"  he  began,  "  I  'm  not  very  interesting  ;  yet  it 's 
possible  that  my  affairs  have  taken  up  a  little  too  much  of 
my  time.  However  "  —  he  stopped,  took  from  his  pocket 
an  envelope  and  threw  it  on  the  desk  —  "  there  are  some 
papers.  I  don't  know  what  value  they  may  be  ;  that  is  for 
you  to  determine.  I  don't  know  that  I  've  any  legal  right 
to  their  possession  —  that 's  for  you  to  say,  too.  They 
came  to  me  in  a  queer  way.  On  the  overland  journey  here 
I  lost  my  bag,  containing  my  few  traps  and  some  letters  and 
papers  '  of  no  value,'  as  the  advertisements  always  say,  '  to 
any  but  the  owner.'  Well,  the  bag  was  lost,  but  the  stage- 
driver  declares  that  it  was  stolen  by  a  fellow-passenger,  a  — 
man  by  the  name  of  Giles,  or  Stiles,  or  Biles  "  — 

"  Wiles,"  said  Harlowe  earnestly. 

"  Yes,"  continued  Thatcher,  suppressing  a  yawn  ;  "  yes, 
I  guess  you  're  right  —  Wiles.  Well,  the  stage-driver, 
firmly  believing  this,  goes  to  work  and  quietly  and  unos- 
tentatiously steals  —  I  say,  have  you  got  a  cigar  ?  " 

"  I  '11  get  you  one." 

Harlowe  disappeared  in  the  adjoining  room.  Thatcher 
dragged  Harlowe's  heavy  revolving  desk  chair,  which  never 
before  had  been  removed  from  its  sacred  position,  to  the 
fire,  and  began  to  poke  the  coals  abstractedly. 

Harlowe  reappeared  with  cigars  and  matches.  Thatcher 
lit  one  mechanically,  and  said  between  the  puffs  — 

"  Do  you  —  ever  —  talk  —  to  yourself  ?  " 

"No!  —  why  ?" 

"I  thought  I  heard  your  voice  just  now  in  the  other 
room.  Anyhow,  this  is  an  awful  spooky  place.  If  I  stayed 
here  alone  half  an  hour  I  'd  fancy  that  the  Lord  Chancellor 
up  there  would  step  down  in  his  robes,  out  of  his  frame,  to 
keep  me  company." 


AND   WHO   FORGOT   IT  Itt 

"  Nonsense  !     When  I  'm  busy  I  often  sit  here  and  writ 
until  after  midnight.     It 's  so  quiet !  " 

«  D— mnably  so  !  " 

"  Well,  to  go  back  to  the  papers.  Somebody  stole  your 
bag,  or  you  lost  it.  You  stole  "  — 

"  The  driver  stole,"  suggested  Thatcher,  so  languidly 
that  it  could  hardly  be  called  an  interruption. 

"  Well,  we  '11  say  the  driver  stole,  and  passed  over  to  you 
as  his  accomplice,  confederate,  or  receiver,  certain  papers 
belonging  "  — 

"  See  here,  Harlowe,  I  don't  feel  like  joking  in  a  ghostly 
law  office  after  midnight.  Here  are  your  facts.  Yuba  Bill, 
the  driver,  stole  a  bag  from  this  passenger,  Wiles,  or  Smiles, 
and  handed  it  to  me  to  insure  the  return  of  my  own.  I 
found  in  it  some  papers  concerning  my  case.  There  they 
are.  Do  with  them  what  you  like." 

Thatcher  turned  his  eyes  again  abstractedly  to  the  fire. 

Harlowe  took  out  the  first  paper. 

"  A-w,  this  seems  to  be  a  telegram.  Yee,  eh  ?  '  Come 
to  Washington  at  once.  Carmen  de  Haro.'  " 

Thatcher  started,  and  blushed  like  a  girl,  and  hurriedly 
reached  for  the  paper.  "  Nonsense.  That 's  a  mistake.  A 
despatch  I  mislaid  in  the  envelope." 

"  I  see,"  said  the  lawyer  drily. 

"  I  thought  I  had  torn  it  up,"  continued  Thatcher,  after 
an  awkward  pause.  I  regret  to  say  that  here  that  usually 
truthful  man  elaborated  a  fiction.  He  had  consulted  it  a 
dozen  times  a  day  on  the  journey,  and  it  was  quite  worn  in 
its  enfoldings.  Harlowe's  quick  eye  had  noticed  this,  but 
he  speedily  became  interested  and  absorbed  in  the  other 
papers.  Thatcher  lapsed  into  contemplation  of  the  fire. 

"  Well,"  said  Harlowe,  finally  turning  to  his  client, 
"  here  's  enough  to  unseat  Gashwiler,  or  close  his  mouth. 
As  to  the  rest,  it 's  good  reading  —  but  I  needn't  tell  you 
—  no  legal  evidence.  But  it 's  proof  enough  to  stop  them 


114        ,  THE    STOKY    OF   A    MINE 

from  ever  'trying  it  again  —  when  the  existence  of  this 
record  is  made  known.  Bribery  is  a  hard  thing  to  fix  on  a 
man ;  the  only  witness  is  naturally  particeps  criminis  — 
but  it  would  not  be  easy  for  them  to  explain  away  this  ras- 
cal's record.  One  or  two  things  I  don't  understood  :  What 's 
this  opposite  the  Hon.  X.'s  name,  'Took  the  medicine 
nicely,  and  feels  better?  '  — and  here,  just  in  the  margin, 
after  Y.'s,  <  Must  be  labored  with  ?  '  " 

"  I  suppose  our  California  slang  borrows  largely  from 
the  medical  and  spiritual  professions,"  returned  Thatcher. 
"  But  is  n't  it  odd  that  a  man  should  keep  a  conscientious 
record  of  his  own  villainy  ?  " 

Harlowe,  a  little  abashed  at  his  want  of  knowledge  of 
American  metaphor,  now  felt  himself  at  home.  "  Well,  no. 
It 's  not  unusual.  In  one  of  those  books  yonder  there  is 
the  record  of  a  case  where  a  man,  who  had  committed  a 
series  of  nameless  atrocities,  extending  over  a  period  of 
years,  absolutely  kept  a  memorandum  of  them  in  his  pocket 
diary.  It  was  produced  in  Court.  Why,  my  dear  fellow, 
one  half  our  business  arises  from  the  fact  that  men  and 
women  are  in  the  habit  of  keeping  letters  and  documents 
that  they  might  —  I  don't  say,  you  know,  that  they  ought, 
that 's  a  question  of  sentiment  or  ethics  —  but  that  they 
might  destroy." 

Thatcher,  half-mechanically,  took  the  telegram  of  poor 
Carmen  and  threw  it  in  the  fire.  Harlowe  noticed  the  act 
and  smiled. 

"  I  '11  venture  to  say,  however,  that  there 's  nothing 
in  the  bag  that  'you  lost  that  need  give  you  a  moment's  un- 
easiness. It 's  only  your  rascal  or  fool  who  carries  with 
him  that  which  makes  him  his  own  detective. 

"  I  had  a  friend,"  continued  Harlowe,  "  a  clever  fellow 
enough,  but  who  was  so  foolish  as  to  seriously  complicate 
himself  with  a  woman.  He  was  himself  the  soul  of  honor, 
and  at  the  beginning  of  their  correspondence  he  proposed 


AND   WHO   FORGOT   IT  115 

that  they  should  each  return  the  other's  letters  with  their 
answer.  They  did  so  for  years,  but  it  cost  him  ten  thou- 
sand dollars  and  no  end  of  trouble,  after  all." 

"  Why  ?  "  asked  Thatcher  simply. 

"  Because  he  was  such  an  egotistical  ass  as  to  keep  the 
letter  proposing  it,  which  she  had  duly  returned,  among 
his  papers  as  a  sentimental  record.  .  Of  course  somebody 
eventually  found  it." 

"  Good-night,"  said  Thatcher,  rising  abruptly.  "  If  I 
stayed  here  much  longer,  I  should  begin  to  disbelieve  my 
own  mother." 

"  I  have  known  of  such  hereditary  traits,"  returned  Kar- 
lowe,  with  a  laugh.  "  But  come,  you  must  not  go  without 
the  champagne."  He  led  the  way  to  the  adjacent  room, 
which  proved  to  be  only  the  antechamber  of  another,  on 
the  threshold  of  which  Thatcher  stopped  with  genuine  sur- 
prise. It  was  an  elegantly  furnished  library. 

"  Sybarite  !     Why  was  I  never  here  before  ?  " 

"Because  you  came  as  a  client ;  to-night  you  are  my 
guest.  All  who  enter  here  leave  their  business,  with  their 
hats,  in  the  hall.  Look ;  there  is  n't  a  law-book  on  those 
shelves;  that  table  never  was  defaced  by  a  title-deed  or 
parchment.  You  look  puzzled  ?  Well,  it  was  a  whim  of 
mine  to  put  my  residence  and  my  workshop  under  the  same 
roof,  yet  so  distinct  that  they  would  never  interfere  with 
each  other.  You  know  the  house  above  is  let  out  to 
lodgers.  I  occupy  the  first  floor  with  my  mother  and  sister, 
and  this  is  my  parlor.  I  do  my  work  in  that  severe  room 
that  fronts  the  street ; '  here  is  where  I  play.  A  man  must 
have  something  else  in  life  than  mere  business.  I  find  it 
less  harmful  and  expensive  to  have  my  pleasure  here." 

Thatcher  had  sunk  moodily  in  the  embracing  arms  of  an 
easy  chair.  He  was  thinking  deeply;  he  was  fond  of  books 
too,  and  like  all  men  who  have  fared  hard  and  led  wander- 
ing lives,  he  knew  the  value  of  cultivated  repose.  Like  all 


116  THE   STORY   OF   A   MINE 

men  who  have  been  obliged  to  sleep  under  blankets  and  in 
the  open  air,  he  appreciated  the  luxuries  of  linen  sheets  and 
a  frescoed  roof.  It  is,  by  the  way,  only  your  sick  city  clerk 
or  your  dyspeptic  clergyman,  who  fancy  that  they  have 
found  in  the  bad  bread,  fried  steaks  and  frowzy  flannels  of 
mountain  picnicking  the  true  art  of  living.  And  it  is  a 
somewhat  notable  fact  that  your  true  mountaineer  or  your 
gentleman  who  has  been  obliged  to  honestly  "  rough  it,"  do 
not,  as  a  general  thing,  write  books  about  its  advantages  or 
implore  their  fellow  mortals  to  come  and  share  their  soli- 
tude and  their  discomforts. 

Thoroughly  appreciating  the  taste  and  comfort  of  Har- 
lowe's  library,  yet  half  envious  of  its  owner,  and  half  suspi- 
cious that  his  own  earnest  life  for  the  past  few  years  might 
have  been  different,  Thatcher  suddenly  started  from  his 
seat  and  walked  towards  a  parlor  easel,  whereon  stood  a 
picture.  It  was  Carmen  de  Haro's  first  sketch  of  the  furnace 
and  the  Mine. 

"  I  see  you  are  taken  with  that  picture,"  said  Harlowe, 
pausing  with  the  champagne  bottle  in  his  hand.  "  You 
show  your  good  taste.  It 's  been  much  admired.  Observe 
how  splendidly  that  firelight  plays  over  the  sleeping  face 
of  that  figure,  yet  brings  out  by  very  contrast  its  almost 
death-like  repose.  Those  rocks  are  powerfully  handled  ; 
what  a  suggestion  of  mystery  in  those  shadows  ?  You 
know  the  painter  ?  " 

Thatcher  murmured  "  Miss  de  Haro,"  with  a  new  and 
rather  odd  self-consciousness  in  speaking  her  name. 

"  Yes.  And  you  know  the  story  of  the  picture,  of 
course  ?  " 

Thatcher  thought  he  did  n't — well  no,  in  fact,  he  did  not 
remember. 

"  Why,  this  recumbent  figure  was  an  old  Spanish  lover 
of  hers,  whom  she  believed -to  have  been  murdered  there, 
It 's  a  ghastly  fancy,  ain't  it  ?  " 


AND   WHO  FORGOT  IT  117 

Two  things  annoyed  Thatcher  ;  first,  the  epithet  "lover," 
as  applied  to  Concho  by  another  man ;  second,  that  the 
picture  belonged  to  him  ;  and  what  the  d  —  1  did  she  mean 
by- 

"  Yes,"  he  broke  out  finally,  "  but  how  did  you  get  it  ?  " 

"  Oh,  I  bought  it  of  her.  I  've  been  a  sort  of  patron  of 
hers  ever  since  I  found  out  how  she  stood  toward  us.  As 
she  was  quite  alone  here  in  Washington,  my  mother  and 
sister  have  taken  her  up,  and  have  been  doing  the  social 
thing." 

"  How  long  since  ?  "  asked  Thatcher. 

"  Oh,  not  long.  The  day  she  telegraphed  you  she  came 
here  to  know  what  she  could  do  for  us,  and  when  I  said 
nothing  could  be  done  except  to  keep  Congress  off  —  why, 
she  went  and  did  it.  For  she,  and  she  alone,  got  that 
speech  out  of  the  Senator.  But,"  he  added,  a  little  mis- 
chievously, "  you  seem  to  know  very  little  about  her  ?  " 

"Xo! —  I  —  that  is  —  I've  been  very  busy  lately," 
returned  Thatcher,  staring  at  the  picture,  "  does  she  come 
here  often  ?  "  » 

"  Yes,  lately,  quite  often  ;  she  was  here  this  evening  with 
mother  —  was  here,  I  think,  when  you  came." 

Thatcher  looked  intently  at  Harlowe.  But  that  gentle- 
man's face  betrayed  no  confusion.  Thatcher  refilled  his 
glass  a  little  awkwardly,  tossed  off  the  liquor  at  a  draught, 
and  rose  to  his  feet. 

"  Come,  old  fellow,  you  're  not  going  now,  I  shan't  permit 
it,"  said  Harlowe,  laying  his  hand  kindly  on  his  client's 
shoulder.  "You're  out  of  sorts.!  Stay  here  with  me  to- 
night. Our  accommodations  are  not  large,  but  are  elastic. 
I  can  bestow  yoxi  comfortably  until  morning.  Wait  here 
a  moment  while  I  give  the  necessary  orders." 

Thatcher  was  not  sorry  to  be  left  alone.  In  the  last 
half-hour  he  had  become  convinced  that  his  love  for 
Carmen  de  Haro  had  been  in  some  way  most  dreadfully 


118  THE   STORY   OF  A   MINE 

abused.  While  he  was  hard  at  work  in  California,  she  was 
being  introduced  in  Washington  society  by  parties  with 
eligible  brothers  who  bought  her  paintings.  It  is  a  relief 
to  the  truly  jealous  mind  to  indulge  in  plurals.  Thatcher 
liked  to  think  that  she  was  already  beset  by  hundreds  of 
brothers. 

He  still  kept  staring  at  the  picture.  By  and  by  it  faded 
away  in  part,  and  a  very  vivid  recollection  of  the  misty, 
midnight,  moonlit  walk  he  had  once  taken  with  her  came 
back  and  refilled  the  canvas  with  its  magic.  He  saw  the 
ruined  furnace ;  the  dark,  overhanging  masses  of  rock,  the 
trembling  intricacies  of  foliage,  and,  above  all,  the  flash  of 
dark  eyes  under  a  mantilla  at  his  shoulder.  What  a  fool 
he  had  been  !  Had  he  not  really  been  as  senseless  and 
stupid  as  this  very  Concho,  lying  here  like  a  log.  And 
she  had  loved  that  man.  What  a  fool  she  must  have 
thought  him  that  evening  !  What  a  snob  she  must  think 
him  now  ! 

He  was  startled  by  a  slight  rustling  in  the  passage,  that 
ceased  almost  as  he  turned.  Thatcher  looked  towards  the 
door  of  the  outer  office,  as  if  half  expecting  that  the  Lord 
Chancellor,  like  the  commander  in  Don  Juan,  might  have 
accepted  his  thoughtless  invitation.  He  listened  again ; 
everything  was  still.  He  was  conscious  of  feeling  ill  at 
ease  and  a  trifle  nervous.  What  a  long  time  Harlowe  took 
to  make  his  preparations.  He  would  look  out  in  the  hall. 
To  do  this  it  was  necessary  to  turn  up  the  gas.  He  did 
so,  and  in  his  confusion  turned  it  out ! 

Where  were  the  matches  ?  He  remembered  that  there 
was  a  bronze  Something  on  the  table  that,  in  the  irony 
of  modern  decorative  taste,  might  hold  ashes  or  matches, 
or  anything  of  an  unpicturesque  character.  He  knocked 
something  over,  evidently  the  ink,  something  else  —  this 
time  a  champagne  glass.  Becoming  reckless  and  now 
groping  at  random  in  the  ruins,  he  overturned  the  bronze 


AND   WHO   FORGOT  IT  119 

Mercury  on  the  centre  table,  and  then  sat  down  hopelessly 
in  his  chair.  And  then  a  pair  of  velvet  fingers  slid  into 
his  with  the  matches,  and  this  audible,  musical  state- 
ment — 

"  It  is  a  match  you  are  seeking  ?     Here  is  of  them." 

Thatcher  flushed,  embarrassed,  nervous  —  feeling  the 
ridiculousness  of  saying  "  Thank  you "  to  a  dark  Some- 
body —  struck  the  match,  beheld  by  its  brief,  uncertain 
glimmer,  Carmen  de  Harq  beside  him,  burned  his  fingers, 
coughed,  dropped  the  match,  and  was  cast  again  into  outer 
darkness. 

"  Let  me  try  !  " 

Carmen  struck  a  match,  jumped  briskly  on  the  chair, 
lit  the  gas,  jumped  lightly  down  again  and  said,  "  You  do 
like  to  sit  in  the  dark  —  eh  ?  So  am  I  —  sometimes, 
alone." 

"  Miss  de  Haro,"  said  Thatcher,  with  sudden,  honest 
earnestness,  advancing  with  outstretched  hands,  "  believe 
me,  I  am  sincerely  delighted,  overjoyed  again  to  meet " 

She  had,  however,  quickly  retreated  as  he  approached, 
ensconcing  herself  behind  the  high  back  of  a  large  antique 
chair,  on  the  cushion  of  which  she  knelt..  I  regret  to  add 
also  that  she  slapped  his  outstretched  fingers  a  little  sharply 
with  her  inevitable  black  fan  as  he  still  advanced. 

"  We  are  not  in  California.  It  is  Washington.  It  is 
after  midnight.  I  am  a  poor  girl,  and  I  have  to  lose  — 
what  you  call  —  'a  character.'  You  shall  sit  over  there," 
she  pointed  to  the  sofa,  "  and  I  shall  sit  here,"  she  rested 
her  boyish  head  on  the  top  of  the  chair,  "  and  we  shall 
talk,  for  I  have  to  speak  to  you  —  Don  Royal." 

Thatcher  took  the  seat  indicated,  contritely,  humbly, 
submissively.  Carmen's  little  heart  was  touched.  But 
she  still  went  on  over  the  back  of  the  chair. 

"  Don  Royal,"  she  said,  emphasizing  each  word  with  her 
fan  at  him,  "  before  I  saw  you  —  ever  knew  of  you  —  I  was 


120  THE   STORY   OF   A  MINE 

a  child.     Ves,  I  was  but  a  child !     I  was  a  bold,  bad  child 
—  and  I  was  what  you  call  a  —  a  —  '  f orgaire  ! '  ; 

"A  what  ?"  asked  Thatcher,  hesitating  between  a  smile 
and  a  sigh. 

"  A  forgaire  !  "  continued  Carmen  demurely.  "  I  did  of 
myself  write  the  names  of  ozzer  peoples ;  "  when  Carmen 
was  excited  she  lost  the  control  of  the  English  tongue;  "  I 
did  write  just  to  please  myself  —  it  was  my  onkle  that  did 
make  of  it  money  —  you  understand,  eh  ?  Shall  you  not 
speak  ?  Must  I  again  hit  you  ?  " 

"  Go  on,"  said  Thatcher,  laughing. 

"  I  did  find  out,  when  I  came  to  you  at  the  Mine,  that  I 
had  forged  against  you  the  name  of  Micheltorena.  I  to 
the  lawyer  went,  and  found  that  it  was  so  —  of  a  verity  — 
so  !  so  !  all  the  time.  Look  at  me  not  now,  Don  Royal  — 
it  is  a  '  forgaire  '  you  stare  at  i  " 

"  Carmen !  " 

"  Hoosh  !  Shall  I  have  to  hit  you  again  ?  I  did  over- 
look all  the  papers.  I  found  the  application ;  it  was 
written  by  me.  There." 

She  tossed  over  the  back  of  her  chair  an  envelope  to 
Thatcher.  He  opened  it. 

"I  see,"  he  said  gently,  "you  repossessed  yourself  of- 
it!" 

"  What  is  that  —  '  r-r-r-e —  possess  ?  ' ; 

"  Why  !  "  Thatcher  hesitated  —  "  you  got  possession  of 
this  paper  —  this  innocent  forgery  —  again." 

"  Oh  !  You  think  me  a  thief  as  well  as  a  '  forgaire.1 
Go  away  !  Get  up.  Get  out." 

"  My  dear  girl  "  — 

"  Look  at  the  paper  !  Will  you  ?  Oh,  you  Silly  !  " 

Thatcher  looked  at  the  paper.  In  paper,  handwriting,, 
age  and  stamp  it  was  identical  with  the  formal,  clerical 
application  of  Garcia  for  the  grant.  The  indorsement  of 
Micheltorena  was  unquestionably  genuine.  But  the  appli- 


AND   WHO   FORGOT   IT  121 

cation  was  made  for  Royal  Thatcher.  And  his  own  signa- 
ture was  imitated  to  the  life. 

"  I  had  but  one  letter  of  yours  wiz  your  name,"  said 
Carmen  apologetically  —  "  and  it  was  the  best  poor  me 
could  do." 

"  Why,  you  blessed  little  goose  and  angel,"  said 
Thatcher,  with  the  bold,  mixed  metaphor  of  amatory 
genius,  "  don't  you  see  "  — 

"  Ah,  you  don't  like  it  —  it  is  not  good  ?  " 

"  My  darling  !  " 

"  Hoosh  !  There  is  also  an  old  cat  upstairs.  And  now 
I  have,  here,  a  character.  Will  you  sit  down  ?  Is  it  of  a 
necessity  that  up  and  down  you  should  walk  and  awaken 
the  whole  house.  There  !  "  she  had  given  him  a  vicious 
dab  with  her  fan  as  he  passed. 

He  sat  down. 

"And  you  have  not  seen  me  nor  written  to  me  for  a 
year  ?  " 

"  Carmen  !  " 

"  Sit  down,  you  bold,  bad  boy.  Don't  you  see  it  is  of 
business  that  you  and  I  talk  down  here,  and  it  is  of  busi- 
ness that  ozzer  people  upstairs  are  thinking.  Eh  ?  " 

"  D — n  business !  See  here,  Carmen,  my  darling,  tell 
me  "  —  I  regret  to  say  he  had  by  this  time  got  hold  of  the 
back  of  Carmen's  chair  —  "  tell  me,  my  own  little  girl  — 
about  —  about  that  Senator.  You  remember  what  you  said 
to  him  ?  " 

"  Oh,  the  old  man  ?  Oh,  that  was  business.  And  you 
say  of  business  d — m." 

"  Carmen !  " 

"  Don  Koyal !  " 

Although  Miss  Carmen  had  recourse  to  her  fan  fre- 
quently during  this  interview,  the  air  must  have  been  chilly. 
For,  a  moment  later,  on  his  way  downstairs,  poor  Harlowe, 


122  THE   STORY    OF   A   MINE 

a  sufferer  from  bronchitis,  was  attacked  with  a  violent  fit 
of  coughing,  which  troubled  him  all  the  way  down. 

"Well,"  he  said,  as  he  entered  the  room,  "I  see  you 
have  found  Mr.  Thatcher  and  shown  those  papers.  I  trust 
you  have,  for  you've  certainly  had  time  enough.  I  am 
sent  by  my  mother  to  dismiss  you  all  to  bed." 

Carmen,  still  in  the  arm-chair,  covered  with  her  mantilla, 
did  not  speak. 

"  I  suppose  you  are  by  this  time  lawyer  enough  to  know," 
continued  Harlowe,  "  that  Miss  De  Haro's  papers,  though 
ingenious,  are  not  legally  available,  unless  "  — 

"  I  chose  to  make  her  a  witness.  Harlowe  !  you  're  a 
good  fellow !  I  don't  mind  saying  to  you  that  these  are 
papers  I  prefer  my  wife  should  not  use.  We  '11  leave  it 
for  the  present  —  Unfinished  Business." 

'They  did.  But  one  evening  our  hero  brought  Mrs. 
Royal  Thatcher  a  paper  containing  a  touching  and  beau- 
tiful tribute  to  the  dead  Senator. 

"  There,  Carmen,  love,  read  that.  Don't  you  feel  a  little 
ashamed  of  your  —  your  —  your  lobbying  "  — 

"  No,"  said  Carmen  promptly.  "  It  was  business  —  and, 
if  all  lobbying  business  was  as  honest  —  well  ?  " 


THE  TWINS  OF  TABLE  MOUNTAIN 
PART  I 

A    CLOUD    ON    THE    MOUNTAIN 

THEY  lived  on  the  verge  of  a  vast  stony  level,  upheaved 
so  far  above  the  surrounding  country  that  its  vague  out- 
lines, viewed  from  the  nearest  valley,  seemed  a  mere  cloud- 
streak  resting  upon  the  lesser  hills.  The  rush  and  roar  of 
the  turbulent  river  that  washed  its  eastern  base  were  lost 
at  that  height ;  the  winds  that  strove  with  the  giant  pines 
that  half-way  climbed  its  flanks  spent  their  fury  below  the 
summit.  For,  at  variance  with  most  meteorological  specu- 
lation, an  eternal  calm  seemed  to  invest  this  serene  alti- 
tude. The  few  Alpine  flowers  seldom  thrilled  their  petals 
to  a  passing  breeze  ;  rain  and  snow  fell  alike  perpendicu- 
larly, heavily,  and  monotonously  over  the  granite  boulders 
scattered  along  its  brown  expanse.  Although  by  actual 
measurement  an  inconsiderable  elevation  of  the  Sierran 
range,  and  a  mere  shoulder  of  the  nearest  white-faced  peak 
that  glimmered  in  the  west,  it  seemed  to  lie  so  near  the 
quiet,  passionless  stars  that  at  night  it  caught  something  of 
their  calm  remoteness.  The  articulate  utterance  of  such  a 
locality  should  have  been  a  whisper ;  a  laugh  or  exclama- 
tion was  discordant,  and  the  ordinary  tones  of  the  human 
voice  on  the  night  of  the  15th  of  May,  1868,  had  a  gro- 
tesque incongruity. 

In  the  thick  darkness  that  clothed  the  mountain  that 
night,  the  human  figure  would  have  been  lost  or  confounded 
with  the  outlines  of  outlying  boulders,  which  at  such  times 


124  THE   TWINS   OF   TABLE   MOUNTAIN 

took  upon  themselves  the  vague  semblance  of  men  and 
animals.  Hence  the  voices  in  the  following  colloquy 
seemed  the  more  grotesque  and  incongruous  from  being  the 
apparent  expression  of  an  upright  monolith,  ten  feet  high, 
on  the  right,  and  another  mass  of  granite  that,  reclining, 
peeped  over  the  verge. 

"Hello!" 

"  Hello  yourself  !  " 

"  You  're  late." 

"  I  lost  the  trail,  and  climbed  up  the  slide." 

Here  followed  a  stumble,  the  clatter  of  stones  down  the 
mountain  side,  and  an  oath,  so  very  human  and  undignified 
that  it  at  once  relieved  the  boulders  of  any  complicity  of 
expression.  The  voices,  too,  were  close  together  now,  and 
unexpectedly  in  quite  another  locality. 

"  Anything  up  ?  " 

"  Looey  Napoleon  's  declared  war  agin  Germany  !  " 

"Sho-o-o!" 

Notwithstanding  this  exclamation,  the  interest  of  the 
latter  speaker  was  evidently  only  polite  and  perfunctory. 
What,  indeed,  were  the  political  convulsions  of  the  Old 
World  to  the  dwellers  in  this  serene,  isolated  eminence  of 
the  New  ? 

"  I  reckon  it 's  so,"  continued  the  first  voice  ;  "  French 
Pete  and  that  thar  feller  that  keeps  the  Dutch  grocery  he'v 
hed  a  row  over  it.  Emptied  their  six-shooters  into  each 
other.  The  Dutchman  's  got  two  balls  in  his  leg,  and  the 
Frenchman 's  got  an  onnessary  button-hole  in  his  shirt  buz- 
zum,  and  hez  caved  in." 

This  concise,  local  corroboration  of  the  conflict  of  remote 
nations,  however  confirmatory,  did  not  appear  to  excite 
any  further  interest.  Even  the  last  speaker,  now  that  he 
was  in  this  calm,  dispassionate  atmosphere,  seemed  to  lose 
his  own  concern  in  his  tidings,  and  to  have  abandoned 
everything  of  a  sensational  and  lower-worldly  character  in 


A   CLOUD   ON   THE   MOUNTAIN  125 

the  pines  below.  There  was  a  few  moments  of  absolute 
silence,  ard  then  another  stumble.  But  now  the  voices  of 
both  speakers  were  quite  patient  and  philosophical. 

"  Hold  on,  and  I  '11  strike  a  light,"  said  the  second 
speaker.  "  I  brought  a  lantern  along,  but  I  did  n't  light 
up.  I  kem  out  afore  sundown,  and  you  know  how  it  allers 
is  up  yer.  /  did  n't  want  it,  and  did  ;t  keer  to  light  -up. 
I  forgot  you  're  always  a  little  dazed  and  strange-like  when 
you  first  come  up." 

There  was  a  crackle,  a  flash,  and  presently  a  steady  glow 
which  the  surrounding  darkness  seemed  to  resent.  The 
faces  of  the  two  men  thus  revealed  were  singularly  alike. 
The  same  thin,  narrow  outline  of  jaw  and  temple ;  the 
same  dark,  grave  eyes ;  the  same  brown  growth  of  curly 
beard  and  moustache,  which  concealed  the  mouth,  and  hid 
what  might  have  been  any  individual  idiosyncrasy  of  thought 
or  expression,  showed  them  to  be  brothers,  or  better  known 
as  the  "  Twins  of  Table  Mountain."  A  certain  animation 
in  the  face  of  the  second  speaker  —  the  first  comer  —  a 
certain  light  in  his  eye,  might  have  at  first  distinguished 
him  ;  but  even  this  faded  out  in  the  steady  glow  of  the 
lantern,  and  had  no  value  as  a  permanent  distinction,  for 
by  the  time  they  had  reached  the  western  verge  of  the 
mountain,  the  two  faces  had  settled  into  a  homogeneous 
calmness  and  melancholy.  The  vague  horizon  of  darkness 
that,  a  few  feet  from  the  lantern,  still  encompassed  them, 
gave  no  indication  of  their  progress  until  their  feet  actually 
trod  the  rude  planks  and  thatch  that  formed  the  roof  of 
their  habitation.  For  their  cabin  half  burrowed  in  the 
mountain,  and  half  clung,  like  a  swallow's  nest,  to  the  side 
of  the  deep  decjivity  that  terminated  the  northern  limit  of 
the  summit.  Had  it  not  been  for  the  windlass  of  a  shaft,  a 
coil  of  rope,  and  a  few  heaps  of  stone  and  gravel,  which 
were  the  only  indications  of  human  labor  in  that  stony 
field,  there  was  nothing  to  interrupt  its  monotonous  dead 


126  THE   TWINS   OF   TABLE   MOUNTAIN 

level.  And  when  they  descended  a  dozen  well-worn  steps 
to  the  door  of  their  cabin,  they  left  the  summit  as  before, 
lonely,  silent,  motionless,  uninterrupted,  basking  in  the  cold 
light  of  the  stars. 

The  simile  of  a  "  nest,"  as  applied  to  the  cabin  of  the 
brothers,  was  no  mere  figure  of  speech,  as  the  light  of  the 
lantern  first  flashed  upon  it.  The  narrow  ledge  before  the 
door  was  strewn  with  feathers.  A  suggestion  that  it  might 
be  the  home  and  haunt  of  predatory  birds  was  promptly 
checked  by  the  spectacle  of  the  nailed-up  carcases  of  a 
dozen  hawks  against  the  walls,  and  the  outspread  wings  of 
an  extended  eagle  emblazoning  the  gable  above  the  door, 
like  an  armorial  bearing.  Within  the  cabin  the  walls  and 
chimney-piece  were  dazzlingly  bedecked  with  the  parti- 
colored wings  of  jays,  yellow-birds,  woodpeckers,  king- 
fishers, and  the  poly-tinted  wood-duck.  Yet  in  that  dry, 
highly  rarefied  atmosphere  there  was  not  the  slightest 
suggestion  of  odor  or  decay. 

The  first  speaker  hung  the  lantern  upon  a  hook  that 
dangled  from  the  rafters,  and  going  to  the  broad  chimney, 
kicked  the  half-dead  embers  into  a  sudden  resentful  blaze. 
He  then  opened  a  rude  cupboard,  and  without  looking 
around,  called  "  Ruth  !  " 

Trie  second  speaker  turned  his  head  from  the  open  door- 
way where  he  was  leaning,  as  if  listening  to  something  in 
the  darkness,  and  answered  abstractedly  — 

"  Eand !  " 

"I  don't  believe  you  have  touched  grub  to-day  ! " 

Ruth  grunted  out  some  indifferent  reply. 

"  Thar  hezent  been  a  slice  cut  off  that  bacon  since  I 
left,"  continued  Rand,  bringing  a  side  of  .bacon  and  some 
biscuits  from  the  cupbord  and  applying  himself  to  the 
discussion  of  them  at  the  table.  "  You  're  gettin'  off  yer 
feed,  Ruth.  What  's  up  ?  " 

Ruth  replied  by  taking  an  uninvited  seat  beside  him,  and 


A   CLOUD    ON   THE  MOUNTAIN  127 

resting  his  chin  on  the  palms  of  his  hands.  He  did  not 
eat,  but  simply  transferred  his  inattention  from  the  door  to 
the  table. 

''  You  're  workin'  too  many  hours  in  the  shaft,"  continued 
Rand.  "  You  're  always  up  to  some  such  d — n  fool  business 
when  I  'm  not  yer." 

"  I  dipped  a  little  west  to-day,"  Ruth  went  on,  without 
heeding  the  brotherly  remonstrance,  "  and  struck  quartz  and 
pyrites." 

"  Thet  's  you  !  —  allers  dippin'  west  or  east  for  quartz 
and  the  color,  instead  of  keeping  on  plumb  down  to  the 
'  cement !  ' "  1 

"  We  've  been  three  years  digging  for  cement,"  said 
Ruth,  more  in  abstraction  than  reproach  ;  "three  years !  " 

"And  we  may  be  three  years  more  —  may  be  only  three 
days.  Why,  you  could  n't  be  more  impatient  if  —  if — if 
you  lived  in  a  valley." 

Delivering  this  tremendous  comparison  as  an  unanswer- 
able climax,  Rand  applied  himself  once  more  to  his  repast. 
Ruth,  after  a  moment's  pause,  without  speaking  or  looking 
up,  disengaged  his  hand  from  under  his  chin  and  slid  it. 
along,  palm  uppermost,  on  the  table  beside  his  brother. 
Thereupon  Rand  slowly  reached  forward  his  left  hand,  the 
right  being  engaged  in  conveying  victual  to  his  mouth,  and 
laid  it  on  his  brother's  palm.  The  act  was  evidently  an 
habitual,  half-mechanical  one,  for  in  a  few  moments  the 
hands  were  as  gently  disengaged,  without  comment  or  expres- 
sion. At  last  Rand  leaned  back  in  his  chair,  laid  down  his 
knife  and  fork,  and  complacently  loosening  the  belt  that 
held  his  revolver,  threw  it  and  the  weapon  on  his  bed. 
Taking  out  his  pipe,  and  chipping  some  tobacco  on  the  table, 
he  said  carelessly,  "I  came  a  piece  through  the  woods  with 
Mornie  just  now."  The  face  that  Ruth  turned  upon  his 

1  The  local  name  for  gold-bearing  alluvial  drift  —  the  bed  of  a  pre- 
historic  river. 


128  THE    TWINS    OF   TABLE    MOUNTAIN 

brother  was  very  distinct  in  expression  at  thai  moment,  and 
quite  belied  the  popular  theory  that  the  twins  could  not  be 
told  apart.  "  Thet  gal,"  continued  Rand,  without  looking 
up,  "  is  either  flighty,  or  —  or  suthin',"  he  added,  in  vague 
disgust,  pushing  the  table  from  him  as  if  it  were  the  lady 
in  question.  "  Don't  tell  me  !  " 

Ruth's  eyes  quickly  sought  his  brother's,  and  were  as 
quickly  averted,  as  he  asked  hurriedly,  "  How  ?  " 

"  What  gets  me,"  continued  Rand  in  a  petulant  non 
sequitur,  "  is  that  you,  my  own  twin  brother,  never  lets  on 
about  her  comin'  yer,  permiskus  like,  when  I  ain't  yer,  and 
you  and  her  gallivantin'  and  promenadin',  and  swoppin' 
sentiments  and  mottoes." 

Ruth  tried  to  contradict  his  blushing  face  with  a  laugh 
of  worldly  indifference. 

"  She  came  up  yer  on  a  sort  of  pasear"  — 

"  Oh  yes  !  —  a  short  cut  to  the  creek,"  interpolated  Rand 
satirically. 

"Last  Tuesday  or  Wednesday,"  continued  Ruth,  with 
affected  forgetfulness. 

"  Oh,  in  course,  Tuesday  or  Wednesday,  or  Thursday  ! 
You  've  so  many  folks  climbing  up  this  yer  mountain  to 
call  on  ye,"  continued  the  ironical  Rand,  "  that  you  dis- 
remember ;  only  you  remembered  enough  not  to  tell  me. 
She  did !  She  took  me  for  you,  or  pretended  to." 

The  color  dropped  from  Ruth's  cheek. 

"Took  you  for  me?"  he  asked,  with  an  awkward 
laugh. 

"  Yes,"  sneered  Rand ;  "  chirped  and  chattered  away 
about  our  picnic,  our  nosegays,  and  Lord  knows  what ! 
Said  she  'd  keep  them  blue  jay's  wings,  and  wear  'em  in  her 
hat.  Spouted  poetry,  too ;  the  same  sort  o'  rot  you  get  off 
now  and  then." 

Ruth  laughed  again,  but  rather  ostentatiously  and  ner 
vously. 


A   CLOUD   ON   THE    MOUNTAIN  129 

«  Kuth,  look  yer  !  " 

Euth  faced  his  brother. 

"  What 's  your  little  game  ?  Do  you  mean  to  say  you 
don't  know  what  thet  gal  is  ?  Do  you  mean  to  say  you 
don't  know  that  she  's  the  laughing-stock  of  the  Ferry  ;  thet 
bsr  father  's  a  d — d  old  fool,  and  her  mother 's  a  drunkard, 
aud  worse  —  thet  she  's  got  any  right  to  be  hanging  round 
yer  ?  You  can't  mean  to  marry  her,  even  if  you  kalkilate 
to  turn  me  out  to  do  it,  for  she  would  n't  live  alone  with  ye 
up  yer.  'T  ain't  her  kind.  And  if  I  thought  you  was 
thinking  of  " 

"  What  ?  "  said  Euth,  turning  upon  his  brother  quickly. 

"  Oh,  thet 's  right !  Holler  !  Swear  and  yell,  and  break 
things,  do  !  Tear  round,"  continued  Eand,  kicking  his 
boots  off  in  a  corner,  "just  because  I  ask  you  a  civil  ques- 
tion. That 's  brotherly,''*  he  added,  jerking  his  chair  away 
against  the  side  of  the  cabin,  "  ain't  it  ?  " 

"  She  's  not  to  blame  because  her  mother  drinks,  and  her 
father 's  a  shyster,"  said  Euth,  earnestly  and  strongly. 
"  The  men  who  make  her  the  laughing-stock  of  the  Ferry 
tried  to  make  her  something  worse,  and  failed,  and  take 
this  sneak's  revenge  on  her.  '  Laughing-stock  ! '  Yes, 
they  knew  she  could  turn  the  tables  on  them." 

"  Of  course ;  go  on  !  She  's  better  than  me  ;  I  know 
I  'm  a  fratricide,  that 's  what  I  am,"  said  Eand,  throwing 
himself  on  the  upper  of  the  two  berths  that  formed  the 
bedstead  of  the  cabin. 

"  I  've  seen  her  three  times,"  continued  Euth. 

"  And  you  've  known  me  twenty  years,"  interrupted  his 
brother. 

Euth  turned  on  his  heel,  and  walked  towards  the  door. 

"  That 's  right ;  go  on  !    Why  don't  you  get  the  chalk  ?  " 

Euth  made  no  reply.  Eand  descended  from  the  bed, 
and  taking  a  piece  of  chalk  from  the  shelf,  drew  a  line  on 
the  floor,  dividing  the  cabin  in  two  equal  parts. 


130  THE   TWINS   ON   TABLE   MOUNTAIN 

"  You  can  have  the  east  half,"  he  said,  as  he  climbed 
slowly  back  into  bed. 

This  mysterious  rite  was  the  usual  termination  of  a  quar- 
rel between  the  twins.  Each  man  kept  his  half  of  the  cabin 
until  the  feud  was  forgotten.  It  was  the  mark  of  silence 
and  separation,  over  which  no  words  of  recrimination, 
argument,  or  even  explanation  were  delivered  until  it  was 
effaced  by  one  or  the  other.  This  was  considered  equiva 
lent  to  apology  or  reconciliation,  which  each  was  equally 
bound  in  honor  to  accept. 

It  may  be  remarked  that  the  floor  was  much  whiter  at 
this  line  of  demarcation,  and  under  the  fresh  chalk  line 
appeared  the  faint  evidences  of  one  recently  effaced. 

Without  apparently  heeding  this  potential  ceremony, 
Ruth  remained  leaning  against  the  doorway,  looking  upon 
the  night,  the  bulk  of  whose  profundity  and  blackness 
seemed  to  be  gathered  below  him.  The  vault  above  was 
serene  and  tranquil,  with  a  few  large  far-spread  stars ;  the 
abyss  beneath,  untroubled  by  sight  or  sound.  Stepping 
out  upon  the  ledge,  he  leaned  far  over  the  shelf  that  sus- 
tained their  cabin,  and  listened.  A  faint  rhythmical  roll, 
rising  and  falling  in  long  undulations  against  the  invisible 
horizon,  to  his  accustomed  ears  told  him  the  wind  was 
blowing  among  the  pines  in  the  valley.  Yet,  mingling  with 
the  familiar  sound,  his  ear,  now  morbidly  acute,  seemed  to 
detect  a  stranger  inarticulate  murmur,  as  of  confused  and 
excited  voices,  swelling  up  from  the  mysterious  depths  to 
the  stars  above,  and  again  swallowed  up  in  the  gulfs  of 
silence  below.  He  was  roused  from  a  consideration  of  this 
phenomenon  by  a  faint  glow  towards  the  east,  which  at  last 
brightened,  until  the  dark  outline  of  the  distant  walls  of 
the  valley  stood  out  against  the  sky.  Were  his  other 
senses  participating  in  the  delusion  of  his  ears  ?  For  with 
the  brightening  light  came  the  faint  odor  of  burning  timber. 

His  face  grew  anxious  as  he  gazed.     At  last  he  rose  and 


A   CLOUD   ON   THE   MOUNTAIN  131 

ree'ntered  the  cabin.  His  eyes  fell  upon  the  faint  chalk 
mark,  and  taking  his  soft  felt  hat  from  his  head,  with  a  few 
practical  sweeps  of  the  brim,  he  brushed  away  the  ominous 
record  of  their  late  estrangement.  Going  to  the  bed, 
whereon  Rand  lay  stretched,  open-eyed,  he  would  have 
laid  his  hand  upon  his  arm  lightly,  but  the  brother's  fingers 
sought  and  clasped  his  own.  "  Get  up,"  he  said  quietly ; 
"  there  's  a  strange  fire  in  the  Canon  head  that  I  can't  make 
out." 

Rand  slowly  clambered  from  his  shelf,  and,  hand  in 
hand,  the  brothers  stood  upon  the  ledge.  "  It 's  a  right 
smart  chance  beyond  the  Ferry,  and  a  piece  beyond  the 
Mill  too,"  said  Rand,  shading  his  eyes  with  his  hand  from 
force  of  habit.  "It's  in  the  woods  where" —  He  would 
have  added  where  he  met  Mornie,  but  it  was  a  point  of 
honor  with  the  twins,  after  reconciliation,  not  to  allude  to 
any  topic  of  their  recent  disagreement. 

Ruth  dropped  his  brother's  hand.  "  It  does  n't  smell 
like  the  woods,"  he  said  slowly. 

"  Smell !  "  repeated  Rand  incredulously.  "  Why,  it 's 
twenty  miles  in  a  bee-line  yonder.  Smell,  indeed  !  " 

Ruth  was  silent,  but  presently  fell  to  listening  again  with 
his  former  abstraction.  "  You  don't  hear  anything  —  do 
you  ?  "  he  asked,  after  a  pause. 

"  It 's  blowin'  in  the  pines  on  the  river,"  said  Rand 
shortly. 

"  You  don't  hear  anything  else  ?  " 

"  No." 

"  Nothing  like  —  like  —  like  "  — 

Rand,  who  had  been  listening  with  an  intensity  that  dis- 
torted the  left  side  of  his  face,  interrupted  him  impatiently. 

"  Like  what  ?  " 

"  Like  a  woman  sobbin'  ?  " 

"  Ruth,"  said  Rand,  suddenly  looking  up  in  his  brother's 
face,  "  what 's  gone  of  you  ?  " 


132  THE    TWINS   OF   TABLE   MOUNTAIN 

Ruth  laughed.  "  The  fire  'a  out,"  he  said  abruptly 
ree'ntering  the  cabin.  "  I  'm  going  to  turn  in." 

Rand,  following  his  brother  half  reproachfully,  saw  him 
divest  himself  of  his  clothing  and  roll  himself  in  the  blankets 
of  his  bed. 

"  Good-night,  Randy." 

Rand  hesitated.  He  would  have  liked  to  ask  his  brother 
another  question ;  but  .there  was  clearly  nothing  to  be  done 
but  follow  his  example. 

"  Good-night,  Ruthy,"  he  said,  and  put  out  the  light. 
As  he  did  so  the  glow  in  the  eastern  horizon  faded  too,  and 
darkness  seemed  to  well  up  from  the  depths  below,  and, 
flowing  in  the  open  door,  wrapped  them  in  deeper  slumber. 


PAET  II 

THE    CLOUDS    GATHER 

TWELVE  months  had  elapsed  since  the  quarrel  and  recon- 
ciliation, during  which  interval  no  reference  was  made  by 
either  of  the  brothers  to  the  cause  which  had  provoked  it. 
Rand  was  at  work  in  the  shaft,  Ruth  having  that  morning 
undertaken  the  replenishment  of  the  larder  with  game  from 
the  wooded  skirt  of  the  mountain.  Rand  had  taken 
advantage  of  his  brother's  absence  to  "  prospect "  in  the 
"  drift "  —  a  proceeding  utterly  at  variance  with  his  previous 
condemnation  of  all  such  speculative  essay  ;  but  Rand, 
despite  his  assumption  of  a  superior  practical  nature,  was 
not  above  certain  local  superstitions.  Having  that  morning 
put  on  his  gray  flannel  shirt  wrong  side  out,  an  abstraction 
recognized  among  the  miners  as  the  sure  forerunner  of 
divination  and  treasure  discovery,  he  could  not  forego  that 
opportunity  of  trying  his  luck  without  hazarding  a  dangerous 
example.  He  was  also  conscious  of  feeling  "  chipper," 
another  local  expression  for  buoyancy  of  spirit,  not  common 
to  men  who  work  fifty  feet  below  the  surface,  without  the 
stimulus  of  air  and  sunshine,  and  not  to  be  overlooked  as 
an  important  factor  in  fortunate  adventure.  Nevertheless, 
noon  came  without  the  discovery  of  any  treasure ;  he  had 
attacked  the  walls  on  either  side  of  the  lateral  "  drift  "  skill- 
fully, so  as  to  expose  their  quality,  without  destroying  theii 
cohesive  integrity,  but  had  found  nothing.  Once  or  twice, 
returning  to  the  shaft  for  rest  and  air,  its  grim  silence  had 
seemed  to  him  pervaded  with  some  vague  echo  of  cheerful 
holiday  voices  above.  This  set  him  to  thinking  of  his 


134:  THE   TWINS   OF   TABLE   MOUNTAIN 

brother's  equally  extravagant  fancy  of  the  wailing  voices 
in  the  air  on  the  night  of  the  fire,  and  of  his  attributing  it 
to  a  lover's  abstraction. 

"  I  laid  it  to  his  being  struck  after  that  gal,  and  yet," 
Rand  continued  to  himself,  "  here 's  me,  who  have  n't  been 
foolin'  round  no  gal,  and  dog  my  skin  if  I  did  n't  think  I 
heard  one  singin'  up  thar !  "  He  put  his  foot  on  the  lower 
round  of  the  ladder,  paused,  and  slowly  ascended  a  dozen 
steps.  Here  he  paused  again.  All  at  once  the  whole  shaft 
was  filled  with  the  musical  vibrations  of  a  woman's  song. 
Seizing  the  rope  that  hung  idly  from  the  windlass,  he  half 
climbed,  half  swung  himself  to  the  surface. 

The  voice  was  there,  but  the  sudden  transition  to  the 
dazzling  level  before  him  at  first  blinded  his  eyes ;  so  that 
he  took  in,  only  by  degrees,  the  unwonted  spectacle  of  the 
singer  —  a  pretty  girl  standing  on  tiptoe  on  a  boulder,  not  a 
dozen  yards  from  him,  utterly  absorbed  in  tying  a  gayly 
striped  neckerchief,  evidently  taken  from  her  own  plump 
throat,  to  the  halliards  of  a  freshly  cut  hickory  pole,  newly 
reared  as  a  flag-staff  beside  her.  The  hickory  pole,  the 
halliards,  the  fluttering  scarf,  the  young  lady  herself,  were 
all  glaring  innovations  on  the  familiar  landscape  ;  but  Rand 
with  his  hand  still  on  the  rope,  silently  and  demurely 
enjoyed  it. 

For  the  better  understanding  of  the  general  reader,  who 
does  not  live  on  an  isolated  mountain,  it  may  be  observed 
that  the  young  lady's  position  on  the  rock  exhibited  some 
study  of  pose,  and  a  certain  exaggeration  of  attitude  that 
betrayed  the  habit  of  an  audience  ;  also  that  -her  voice  had 
an  artificial  accent  that  was  not  wholly  unconscious  even  in 
this  lofty  soltitude.  Yet  the  very  next  moment,  when  she 
turned  and  caught  Rand's  eye  fixed  upon  her,  she  started 
naturally,  colored  slightly,  uttered  that  feminine  adjuration, 
"  Good  Lord  !  gracious !  goodness  me  !  "  which  is  seldom 
used  in  reference  to  it°  °flfect  upon  the  hearer,  and  skipped 


THE   CLOUDS   GATHEK  135 

instantly  from  the  boulder  to  the  ground.  Here,  however, 
she  alighted  in  a  pose  —  brought  the  right  heel  of  her  neatly 
fitting  left  boot  closely  into  the  hollowed  side  of  her  right 
instep ;  at  the  same  moment  deftly  caught  her  flying  skirt, 
whipped  it  around  her  ankles,  and  slightly  raising  it  behind, 
permitted  the  chaste  display  of  an  inch  or  two  of  frilled 
white  petticoat.  The  most  irreverent  critic  of  the  sex  will, 
I  think,  admit  that  it  has  some  movements  that  are  auto- 
matic. 

"  Hope  I  did  n't  disturb  ye,"  said  Rand,  pointing  to  the 
flag-staff. 

The  young  lady  slightly  turned  her  head.  "No,"  she 
said  ;  "  but  I  did  n't  know  anybody  was  here,  of  course. 
Our  party  "  —  she  emphasized  the  word,  and  accompanied 
it  with  a  look  toward  the  farther  extremity  of  the  plateau, 
to  show  she  was  not  alone  —  "  our  party  climbed  this  ridge, 
and  put  up  this  pole  as  a  sign  they  did  it."  The  ridicu- 
lous self-complacency  of  this  record  in  the  face  of  a  man 
who  was  evidently  a  dweller  on  the  mountain,  apparently 
struck  her  for  the  first  time.  "  We  did  n't  know,"  she  stam- 
mered, looking  at  the  shaft  from  which  Rand  had  emerged, 
"  that  —  that  "  —  She  stopped,  and  glancing  again  towards 
the  distant  range  where  her  friends  had  disappeared,  began 
to  edge  away. 

"  They  can't  be  far  off,"  interposed  Rand  quietly,  as  if 
it  were  the  most  natural  thing  in  the  world  for  the  lady 
to  be  there ;  "  Table  Mountain  ain't  as  big  as  all  that. 
Don't  you  be  scared !  So  you  thought  nobody  lived  up 
here  ?  " 

She  turned  upon  him  a  pair  of  honest  hazel  eyes,  which 
not  only  contradicted  the  somewhat  meretricious  smartness 
of  her  dress,  but  was  utterly  inconsistent  with  the  palpable 
artificial  colir  of  her  hair — an  obvious  imitation  of  a  cer- 
tain popular  fashion  then  known  in  artistic  circles  as  the 
?<  British  Blonde,"  —  and  began  to  ostentatiously  resume  a 


136  THE   TWINS   OF   TABLE   MOUNTAIN 

pair  of  lemon-colored  kid  gloves.  Having,  as  it  were,  thus 
indicated  her  standing  and  respectability,  and  put  an  im- 
measurable distance  between  herself  and  her  bold  inter- 
locutor, she  said  impressively,  "We  evidently  made  a 
mistake ;  I  will  rejoin  our  party,  who  will,  of  course, 
apologize." 

"  What 's  your  hurry  ?  "  said  the  imperturbable  Rand, 
disengaging  himself  from  the  rope  and  walking  towards  hei. 
"  As  long  as  you  're  up  here,  you  might  stop  a  spell." 

"  I  have  no  wish  to  intrude  —  that  is,  our  party  certainly 
has  not,"  continued  the  young  lady,  pulling  the  tight  gloves 
and  smoothing  the  plump,  almost  bursting  fingers,  with  an 
affectation  of  fashionable  ease. 

"  Oh,  I  have  n't  anything  to  do  just  now,"  said  Rand, 
"  and  it 's  about  grub  time,  I  reckon.  Yes,  I  live  here, 
Ruth  and  me ;  right  here." 

The  young  woman  glanced  at  the  shaft. 

'•'  No,  not  down  there,"  said  Rand,  following  her  eye, 
with  a  laugh.  "  Come  here,  and  I  '11  show  you." 

A  strong  desire  to  keep  up  an  appearance  of  genteel 
reserve,  and  an  equally  strong  inclination  to  enjoy  the 
adventurous  company  of  this  good-looking,  hearty  young 
fellow,  made  her  hesitate.  Perhaps  she  regretted  having 
undertaken  a  role  of  such  dignity  at  the  beginning  ;  she 
could  have  been  so  perfectly  natural  with  this  perfectly 
natural  man,  whereas,  any  relaxation  now  might  increase 
his  familiarity.  And  yet  she  was  not  without  a  vague  sus- 
picion that  her  dignity  and  her  gloves  were  alike  thrown 
away  on  him  —  a  fact  made  the  more  evident  when  Rand 
stepped  to  her  side,  and  without  any  apparent  conscious- 
ness of  disrespect  or  gallantry,  laid  his  large  hand,  half 
persuasively,  half  fraternally  upon  her  shoulder,  and  said, 
"  Oh,  come  along,  do." 

The  simple  act  either  exceeded  the  limits  of  her  forbear- 
ance or  decided  the  course  of  her  subsequent  behavior 


THE   CLOUDS   GATHER  137 

She  instantly  stepped  back  a  single  pace,  and  drew  her  left 
foot  slowly  and  deliberately  after  her.  Then  she  fixed  her 
eyes  and  uplifted  eyebrows  upon  the  daring  hand,  and  tak- 
ing it  by  the  ends  of  her  thumb  and  forefinger,  lifted  it  and 
dropped  it  in  mid-air.  She  then  folded  her  arms.  It  was 
the  indignant  gesture  with  which  "  Alice,"  the  Pride  of 
Dumballin  Village,  received  the  loathsome  advances  of  the 
bloated  aristocrat,  Sir  Parkyns  Parkyn,  and  had  at  Marys- 
ville,  a  few  nights  before,  brought  down  the  house. 

This  effect  was,  I  think,  however,  lost  upon  Band.  The 
slight  color  that  rose  to  his  cheek  as  he  looked  down  upon 
his  clay-soiled  hands,  was  due  to  the  belief  that  he  had 
really  contaminated  her  outward  superfine  person.  But  his 
color  quickly  passed,  his  frank,  boyish  smile  returned,  as 
he  said,  "  It  '11  rub  off.  Lord,  don't  mind  that.  Thar, 
now  —  come  on  !  " 

The  young  woman  bit  her  lip.  Then  nature  triumphed, 
a^d  she  laughed,  although  a  little  scornfully.  And  then 
Providence  assisted  her  with  the  sudden  presentation  of 
two  figures  —  a  man  and  woman  slowly  climbing  up  over 
tKe  mountain  verge,  not  far  from  them.  With  a  cry  of, 
"  There  's  Sol,  now,"  she  forgot  her  dignity  and  her  confu- 
sion, and  ran  towards  them. 

Rand  stood  looking  after  her  neat  figure,  less  concerned 
in  the  advent  of  the  strangers  than  in  her  sudden  caprice. 
Ha  was  not  so  young  and  inexperienced  but  that  he  noted 
certain  ambiguities  in  her  dress  and  manner  ;  he  was  by 
no  means  impressed  by  her  dignity.  But  he  could  not 
help  watching  her  as  she  appeared  to  be  volubly  recounting 
her  late  interview  to  her  companions ;  and  still  unconscious 
of  any  impropriety  or  obtrusiveness,  he  lounged  down  lazily 
towards  her.  Her  humor  had  evidently  changed,  for  she 
tuvned  an  honest  pleased  face  upon  him,  as  she  girlishly 
attempted  to.  drag  the  strangers  forward. 

The  man  was  plump  and  short ;   unlike  the  natives  of  the 


138  THE   TWINS   OF   TABLE    MOUNTAIN 

locality,  he  was  closely  cropped  and  shaven,  as  if  io  keep 
down  the  strong  blue-blackness  of  his  beard  and  hair, 
which  nevertheless  asserted  itself  over  his  round  cheeka 
and  upper  lip  like  a  tattooing  of  Indian  ink.  The  woman 
at  his  side  wa^  reserved  and  indistinctive,  with  that  appear- 
ance of  being  an  unenthusiastic  family  servant  peculiar  tc 
some  men's  wives.  When  Rand  was  within  a  few  feet  ot 
him,  he  started,  struck  a  theatrical  attitude,  and  shading 
his  eyes  with  his  hand,  cried,  "  What,  do  me  eyes  deceive 
me ! "  burst  into  a  hearty  laugh,  darted  forward,  seized 
Rand's  hand  and  shook  it  briskly. 

"  Pinkney  !  Pinkney,  my  boy,  how  are  you  ?  And  this 
is  your  little  'prop'?  your  quarter-section,  your  country 
seat,  that  we've  been  trespassing  on  —  eh  ?  A  nice  little 
spot  —  cool,  sequestered,  remote  !  A  trifle  unimproved  : 
carriage  road  as  yet  unfinished  —  ha  !  ha  !  But  to  think 
of  our  making  a  discovery  of  this  inaccessible  mountain ; 
climbing  it,  sir,  for  two  mortal  hours ;  christening  it  '  Sol's 
Peak  ; '  getting  up  a  flag-pole,  unfurling  our  standard  to  the 
breeze,  sir,  and  then,  by  Jingo,  winding  up  by  finding 
Pinkney  —  the  festive  Pinkney  —  living  on  it  at  home  !  " 

Completely  surprised,  but  still  perfectly  good-humored, 
Rand  shook  one  of  the  stranger's  hands  warmly,  and 
received  on  his  broad  shoulders  a  welcoming  thwack  from 
the  other,  without  question.  "  She  don't  mind  her  friends 
making  free  with  me,  evidently,"  said  Rand  to  himself,  as 
he  tried  to  suggest  that  fact  to  the  young  lady  in  a  meaning 
glance. 

The  stranger  noted  his  glance,  and  suddenly  passed  his 
hand  thoughtfully  over  his  shaven  cheeks.  "  No ! "  he 
said.  "  Yes,  surely,  I  forget !  Yes,  I  see  ;  of  course  you 
don't.  Rosy,"  turning  to  his  wife,  "  of  course,  Pinkney 
does  n't  know  Pheinie  —  eh  ?  " 

"  No,  nor  me  either,  Sol,"  said  that  lady  warningly. 

"  Certainly,"    continued   Sol.       "  It 's    his   misfortune  ? 


THE   CLOUDS   GATHER  139 

You  were  n't  with  me  at  Gold  Hill.  Allow  me,"  he  said, 
turning  to  Rand,  "  to  present  Mrs.  Sol  Saunders,  wife  of 
the  undersigned,  and  Miss  Euphemia  Neville,  otherwise 
known  as  the  '  Marysville  Pet,'  the  best  variety-actress 
known  on  the  provincial  boards.  Played  Ophelia  at  Marys- 
ville, Friday  ;  domestic  drama  at  Gold  Hill,  Saturday ; 
Sunday  night,  four  songs  in  character,  different  dress  each 
time,  and  a  clog-dance.  The  best  clog-dance  on  the  Pacific 
Slope,"  he  added,  in  a  stage  aside,  "  The  minstrels  are 
crazy  to  get  her  in  'Frisco.  But  money  can't  buy  her  — 
prefers  the  legitimate  drama  to  this  sort  of  thing."  Here 
he  took  a  few  steps  of  a  jig,  to  which  the  Marysville  Pet 
beat  time  with  her  feet,  and  concluded  with  a  laugh  and  a 
wink  —  the  combined  expression  of  an  artist's  admiration 
for  her  ability,  and  a  man  of  the  world's  skepticism  of  femi- 
nine ambition. 

Miss  Euphemia  responded  to  the  formal  introduction  by 
extending  her  hand  frankly  with  a  reassuring  smile  to 
Rand,  and  an  utter  obliviousness  of  her  former  hauteur. 
Rand  shook  it  warmly,  and  then  dropped  carelessly  on  a 
rock  beside  them. 

"  And  you  never  told  me  you  lived  up  here  in  the  attic, 
you  rascal,"  continued  Sol  with  a  laugh. 

"  No,"  replied  Rand  simply.  "  How  could  I  ?  I 
never  saw  you  before,  that  I  remember." 

Miss  Euphemia  stared  at  Sol.  Mrs.  Sol  looked  up  in 
her  lord's  face,  and  folded  her  arms  in  a  resigned  expres- 
sion. Sol  rose  to  his  feet  again,  and  shaded  his  eyes  with 
his  hand,  but  this  time  quite  seriously,  and  gazed  at  Rand's 
smiling  face. 

"  Good  Lord  !  Do  you  mean  to  say  your  name  is  n't 
Pinkney  ?  "  he  asked,  with  a  half-embarrassed  laugh. 

"  It  is  Pinkney,"  said  Rand,  "  but  I  never  met  you 
before." 

"  Did  n't  you  "ome  to  see  a  young  lady  that  joined  my 


140  THE   TWINS   OF   TABLE    MOUNTAIN 

troupe  at  Gold  Hill,  last  month,  and  say  you  'd  meet  me  at 
Keeler's  Ferry  in  a  day  or  two  ?  " 

"  No-o-o,"  said  Rand,  with  a  good-humored  laugh.  "  I 
have  n't  left  this  mountain  for  two  months." 

He  might  have  added  more,  but  his  attention  was  di- 
rected to  Miss  Euphemia,  who  during  this  short  dialogue, 
having  stuffed  alternately  her  handkerchief,  the  corner  of 
her  mantle,  and  her  gloves  into  her  mouth,  restrained  her- 
self no  longer,  but  gave  way  to  an  uncontrollable  fit  of 
laughter.  "  0  Sol,"  she  gasped  explanatorily,  as  she 
threw  herself  alternately  against  him,  Mrs.  Sol,  and  a 
boulder,  "  you  '11  kill  me  yet  !  0  Lord  !  first  we  take 
possession  of  this  man's  property,  then  we  claim  him." 
The  contemplation  of  this  humorous  climax  affected  her  so 
that  she  was  fain  at  last  to  walk  away  and  confide  the  rest 
of  her  speech  to  space. 

Sol  joined  in  the  laugh  until  his  wife  plucked  his  sleeve, 
and  whispered  something  in  his  ear.  In  an  instant  his 
face  became,  at  once  mysterious  and  demure.  "  I  owe  you 
an  apology,"  he  said,  turning  to  Rand,  but  in  a  voice 
ostentatiously  pitched  high  enough  for  Miss  Euphemia  to 
overhear ;  "  I  see  I  have  made  a  mistake.  A  resemblance 
—  only  a  mere  resemblance,  as  I  look  at  you  now  —  led  me 
astray.  Of  course  you  don't  know  any  young  lady  in  the 
profession  ?  " 

"  Of  course  he  does  n't,  Sol,"  said  Miss  Euphemia.  "  / 
could  have  told  you  that.  He  did  n't  even  know  me  !  " 

The  voice  and  mock-heroic  attitude  of  the  speaker  was 
enough  to  relieve  the  general  embarrassment  with  a  laugh. 
Rand,  now  pleasantly  conscious  of  only  Miss  Euphemia'a 
presence,  again  offered  the  hospitality  of  his  cabin  —  with 
the  polite  recognition  of  her  friends  in  the  sentence,  "  and 
you  might  as  well  come  along  too  !  " 

"  But  won't  we  incommode  the  lady  of  the  house  ?  " 
said  Mrs.  Sol  politely. 


THE   CLOUDS   GATHER  141 

"  What  lady  of  the  house  ?  "  said  Hand,  almost  angrily. 

«  Why  —  Ruth,  you  know  !  " 

It  was  Rand's  turn  to  become  hilarious.  "  Ruth,"  he 
said,  "  is  short  for  Rutherford,  my  brother."  His  laugh, 
however,  was  echoed  only  by  Euphemia. 

"  Then  you  have  a  brother  ?  "  said  Mrs.  Sol  benignly. 

"  Yes,"  said  Rand  ;  "  he  will  be  here  soon."  A  sudden 
thought  dropped  the  color  from  his  cheek.  "  Look  here," 
he  said,  turning  impulsively  upon  Sol.  "  I  have  a  brother, 
a  twin  brother.  It  could  n't  be  him  "  — 

Sol  was  conscious  of  a  significant  feminine  pressure  on 
his  right  arm.  He  was  equal  to  the  emergency.  "  I  think 
not,"  he  said  dubiously,  "  unless  your  brother's  hair  is  much 
darker  than  yours.  Yes  !  now  I  look  at  you,  yours  is 
brown.  He  has  a  mole  on  his  right  cheek  —  has  n't  he  ?  " 

The  red  came  quickly  back  to  Rand's  boyish  face.  He 
laughed.  "  No,  sir  ;  my  brother's  hair  is,  if  anything,  a 
shade  lighter  than  mine  ;  and  nary  mole  !  Come  along  !  " 

And  leading  the  way,  Rand  disclosed  the  narrow  steps 
winding  down  to  the  shelf  on  which  the  cabin  hung.  "  Be 
careful,"  said  Rand,  taking  the  now  unresisting  hand  of  the 
"  Marysville  Pet "  as  they  descended  :  "  a  step  that  way,  and 
down  you  go,  two  thousand  feet  on  the  top  of  a  pine-tree." 

But  the  girl's  slight  cry  of  alarm  was  presently  changed 
to  one  of  unaffected  pleasure,  as  they  stood  on  the  rocky 
platform.  "  It  is  n't  a  house  ;  it 's  a  nest,  and  the  love- 
lies! !  "  said  Euphemia  breathlessly. 

"  It 's  a  scene  !  a  perfect  scene,  sir  !  "  said  Sol  enraptured. 
"  I  shall  take  the  liberty  of  bringing  my  scene-painter  to 
sketch  it,  some  day.  It  would  do  for  '  The  Mountaineer's 
Bride  '  superbly,  or,"  continued  the  little  man,  warming 
through  the  blue-black  border  of  his  face  with  professional 
enthusiasm,  "  it 's  enough  to  make  a  play  itself  !  '  The  Cot 
on  the  Crags.'  Last  scene  —  moonlight — the  struggle  on 
the  ledge  !  —  The  Lady  of  the  Crags  throws  herself  from 


142  THE   TWINS    OF   TABLE    MOUNTAIN 

the  beetling  heights !  —  A  shriek  from  the  depths  —  a 
woman's  wail !  " 

"  Dry  up  !  "  sharply  interrupted  Band,  to  whom  this 
speech  recalled  his  brother's  half-forgotten  strangeness, 
"  Look  at  the  prospect." 

In  the  full  noon  of  a  cloudless  day,  beneath  them  a 
tumultuous  sea  of  pines  surged,  heaved,  rode  in  giant 
crests,  stretched  and  spent  itself  in  the  ghostly,  snow-peaked 
horizon.  The  thronging  woods  choked  every  defile,  swept 
every  crest,  filled  every  valley  with  its  dark-green  tilting 
spears,  and  left  only  Table  Mountain  sunlit  and  bare. 
Here  and  there  were  profound  olive  depths,  over  which  the 
gray  hawk  hung  lazily,  and  into  which  blue  jays  dipped. 
A  faint,  dull,  yellowish  streak  marked  an  occasional  water- 
course ;  a  deeper  reddish  ribbon,  the  mountain  road  and  its 
overhanging  murky  cloud  of  dust. 

"  Is  it  quite  safe  here  ?  "  asked  Mrs.  Sol,  eyeing  the  little 
cabin.  "  I  mean  from  storms  ?  " 

"  It  never  blows  up  here,"  replied  Rand,  "  and  nothing 
happens." 

"  It  must  be  lovely ! "  said  Euphemia,  clasping  her  hands. 

"  It  is  that,"  said  Rand  proudly.  "  It 's  four  years  since 
Ruth  and  I  took  up  this  yer  claim,  and  raised  this  shanty. 
In  that  four  years  we  have  n't  left  it  alone  a  night,  or  cared 
to.  It  's  only  big  enough  for  two,  and  them  two  must  be 
brothers.  It  would  n't  do  for  mere  pardners  to  live  here 
alone  —  they  could  n't  do  it.  It  would  n't  be  exactly  tha 
thing  for  man  and  wife  to  shut  themselves  up  here  alone. 
But  Ruth  and  me  know  each  other's  ways,  and  here  we  '11 
stay  until  we  've  made  a  pile.  We  sometimes  — one  of  us 
—  takes  a  pasear  to  the  Ferry,  to  buy  provisions,  but  we  're 
glad  to  crawl  up  to  the  back  of  old  l  Table  '  at  night." 

"  You  're  quite  out  of  the  world  here,  then  ?  ".  suggested 
Mrs.  Sol. 

"  That 's  it  —  just  it !     We  're  out  of  the  world,  out  of 


THE   CLOUDS   GATHER  143 

rows,  out  of  liquor,  out  of  cards,  out  of  bad  company,  out  of 
temptation.  Cussedness  and  foolishness  hez  got  to  follow 
us  up  here  to  find  us,  and  there  's  too  many  ready  to  climb 
down  to  them  things  to  tempt  'em  to  come  up  to  us." 

There  was  a  little  boyish  conceit  in  his  tone,  as  he  stood 
there,  not  altogether  unbecoming  his  fresh  color  and  sim- 
plicity. Yet  when  his  eyes  met  those  of  Miss  Euphemia, 
he  colored,  he  hardly  knew  why,  and  the  young  lady  her- 
self blushed  rosily. 

When  the  neat  cabin,  with  its  decorated  walls,  and 
squirrel  and  wild-cat  skins  were  duly  admired,  the  luncheon- 
basket  of  the  Saunders  party  was  reinforced  by  provisions 
from  Rand's  larder,  and  spread  upon  the  ledge ;  the  dimen- 
sions of  the  cabin  not  admitting  four.  Under  the  potent 
influence  of  a  bottle,  Sol  became  hilarious  and  professional. 
The  "  Pet "  was  induced  to  favor  the  company  with  a 
recitation,  and,  under  the  plea  of  teaching  Rand,  to  per- 
form the  clog-dance  with  both  gentlemen.  Then  there  was 
an  interval,  in  which  Rand  and  Euphemia  wandered  a  little 
way  down  the  mountain  side  to  gather  laurel,  leaving  Mr. 
Sol  to  his  siesta  on  a  rock,  and  Mrs.  Sol  to  take  some 
knitting  from  the  basket,  and  sit  beside  him. 

When  Rand  and  his  companion  had  disappeared,  Mrs. 
Sol  nudged  her  sleeping  partner.  "  Do  you  think  that  ivas 
the  brother  ?  " 

Sol  yawned.  "  Sure  of  it.  They  're  as  like  as  two 
peas,  in  looks." 

"  Why  did  n't  you  tell  him  so,  then  ?  " 

"  Will  you  tell  me,  my  dear,  why  you  stopped  me  when 
1  began  ?  " 

"  Because  something  was  said  about  Ruth  being  here 
and  I  supposed  Ruth  was  a  woman,  and  perhaps  Pinkney's 
wife,  and  I  knew  you  'd  be  putting  your  foot  in  it  by  talking 
of  that  other  woman.  I  supposed  it  was  for  fear  of  that 
he  denied  knowing  you." 


144  THE   TWINS   OF   TABLE   MOUNTAIN 

"  Well,  when  he,  — this  Kami,  — told  me  he  had  a  twin 
brother,  he  looked  so  frightened  that  I  knew  he  knew  no- 
thing of  his  brother's  doings  with  that  woman,  and  I  threw 
him  off  the  scent.  He  's  a  good  fellow,  but  awfully  green, 
and  I  did  n't  want  to  worry  him  with  tales.  I  like  him, 
and  I  think  Phemie  does  too." 

"  Nonsense  !  He  's  a  conceited  prig  !  Did  you  hear  his 
sermon  on  the  world  and  its  temptations  ?  I  wonder  if  he 
thought  temptation  had  come  up  to  him  in  the  person  of  us 
professionals,  out  on  a  picnic  ?  I  think  it  positively  rude." 

"  My  dear  woman,  you  're  always  seeing  slights  and 
insults.  I  tell  you,  he  's  taken  a  shine  to  Phemie,  and  he  's 
as  good  as  four  seats  and  a  bouquet  to  that  child  next 
Wednesday  evening.  To  say  nothing  of  the  eclat  of  getting 
this  St.  Simeon  —  what  do  you  call  him  —  Stalactites  ?  " 

"  Stylites,"  suggested  Mrs.  Sol. 

"  Stylites,  off  from  his  pillar  here.  I  '11  have  a  paragraph 
in  the  paper,  that  the  hermit  crabs  of  Table  Mountain  "  — 

"  Don't  be  a  fool,  Sol !  " 

"  The  hermit  twins  of  Table  Mountain  bespoke  the 
chaste  performance." 

"  One  of  them  being  the  protector  of  the  well-known 
Mornie  Nixon,"  responded  Mrs.  Sol,  viciously  accenting  the 
name  with  her  knitting-needles. 

"  Rosy,  you  're  unjust.  You  're  prejudiced  by  the  reports 
of  the  town.  Mr.  Pinkney's  interest  in  her  may  be  a  purely 
artistic  one,  although  mistaken.  She  '11  never  make  a  good 
variety-actress  —  she  's  too  heavy.  And  the  boys  don't  give 
her  a  fair  show.  No  woman  can  make  a  debut  in  my  ver- 
sion of  '  Somnambula,'  and  have  the  front  row  in  the  pit 
say  to  her,  in  the  sleep-walking  scene,  '  You  're  out  rather 
late,  Mornie.  Kinder  forgot  to  put  on  your  things,  did  n't 
you  ?  Mother  sick,  I  suppose,  and  you  're  goin'  for  more 
gin  ?  Hurry  along,  or  you  '11  ketch  it  when  ye  get  home/ 
Why,  you  could  n't  do  it  yourself,  Rosy  !  " 


THE   CLOUDS   GATHER  145 

• 

To  which  Mrs.  Sol's  illogical  climax  was  that,  "  bad  as 
Rutherford  might  be,  this  Sunday-school  superintendent, 
Rand,  was  worse." 

Rand  and  Ids  companion  returned  late,  but  in  high 
spirits.  There  was  an  unnecessary  effusiveness  in  the  way 
in  which  Euphemia  kissed  Mrs.  Sol  —  the  one  woman  pre- 
sent, who  understood,  and  was  to  be  propitiated  —  which 
did  not  tend  to  increase  her  good  humor.  She  had  her 
basket  packed  already  for  departure,  and  even  the  earnest 
solicitation  of  Rand,  that  they  would  defer  their  going  until 
sunset,  produced  no  effect. 

"  Mr.  Rand  —  Mr.  Pinkney,  I  mean,  says  the  sunsets  here 
are  so  lovely,"  pleaded  Euphemia. 

"  There  is  a  rehearsal  at  seven  o'clock,  and  we  have  no 
time  to  lose,"  said  Mrs.  Sol  significantly. 

"  I  forgot  to  say,"  said  the  Marysville  Pet  timidly,  glaiv 
cing  at  Mrs.  Sol,  "  that  Mr.  Rand  says  he  will  bring  his 
brother  on  Wednesday  night,  and  wants  four  seats  in  front, 
so  as  not  to  be  crowded." 

Sol  shook  the  young  man's  hand  warmly.  "  You  '11  not 
regret  it,  sir  ;  it 's  a  surprising,  a  remarkable  performance." 

"  I  'd  like  to  go  a  piece  down  the  mountain  with  you," 
said  Rand  with  evident  sincerity,  looking  at  Miss  Euphemia  ; 
"  but  Ruth  is  n't  here  yet,  and  we  make  a  rule  never  to 
leave  the  place  alone.  I  '11  show  you  the  slide :  it 's  the 
quickest  way  to  go  down.  If  you  meet  any  one  who  looks 
like  me,  and  talks  like  me,  call  him  '  Ruth,'  and  tell  him 
I  'm  waitin  for  him  yer." 

Miss  Phemia,  the  last  to  go,  standing  on  the  verge  of  the 
declivity,  here  remarked,  with  a  dangerous  smile,  that  if  she 
met  any  one  who  bore  that  resemblance,  she  might  be 
tempted  to  keep  him  with  her  —  a  playfulness  that  brought 
the  ready  color  to  Rand's  cheek.  When  she  added  to  this 
the  greater  audacity  of  kissing  her  hand  to  him,  the  young 
hermit  actually  turned  away  in  sheer  embarrassment.  When 


14 G  THE   TWINS   OF   TABLE    MOUNTAIN 

• 

he  looked  around  again,  she  was  gone,  and  for  the  first  time 
in  his  experience,  the  mountain  seemed  harren  and  lonely. 

The  too  sympathetic  reader  who  would  rashly  deduce 
from  this  any  newly  awakened  sentiment  in  the  virgin  heart 
of  Rand  would  quite  misapprehend  that  peculiar  young 
man.  That  singular  mixture  of  boyish,  inexperience  and 
mature  doubt  and  disbelief,  which  was  partly  the  result  of 
his  temperament,  and  partly  of  his  cloistered  life  on  the 
mountain,  made  him  regard  his  late  companions,  now  that 
they  were  gone,  and  his  intimacy  with  them,  with  remorse- 
ful distrust.  The  mountain  was  barren  and  lonely,  because 
it  was  no  longer  his.  It  had  become  a  part  of  the  great 
world  which,  four  years  ago,  he  and  his  brother  had  put 
aside  ;  and  in  which,  as  two  self-devoted  men,  they  walked 
alone.  More  than  that,  he  believed  he  had  acquried  some 
Understanding  of  the  temptations  that  assailed  his  brother, 
and  the  poor  little  vanities  of  the  "  Marysville  Pet "  were 
transformed  into  the  blandishments  of  a  Circe.  Rand,  who 
would  have  succumbed  to  a  wicked,  superior  woman,  be- 
lieved he  was  a  saint  in  withstanding  the  foolish  weakness 
of  a  simple  one. 

He  did  not  resume  his  work  that  day.  He  paced  the 
mountain,  anxiously  awaiting  his  brother's  return,  and  eager 
to  relate  his  experiences.  He  would  go  with  him  to  the 
dramatic  entertainment ;  from  his  example  and  wisdom 
Ruth  should  learn  how  easily  temptation  might  be  over- 
come. But,  first  of  all,  there  should  be  the  fullest  ex- 
change of  confidences  and  explanations.  The  old  rule 
should  be  rescinded  for  once  —  the  old  discussion  in  regard 
to  Mornie  re-opened ;  and  Rand,  having  convinced  his 
brother  of  error,  would  generously  extend  his  forgiveness. 

The  sun  sank  redly.  Lingering  long  upon  the  ledge  be- 
fore their  cabin,  it  at  last  slipped  away  almost  imperceptibly, 
leaving  Rand  still  wrapped  in  reverie.  Darkness,  the  smoke 
of  distant  fires  in  the  woods,  and  the  faint  evening  incense 


THE   CLOUDS   GATHER  147 

of  the  pines  crept  slowly  up,  but  Ruth  came  not.  The 
moon  rose  —  a  silver  gleam  on  the  farther  ridge  ;  and  Rand, 
becoming  uneasy  at  his  brother's  prolonged  absence,  re- 
solved to  break  another  custom  and  leave  the  summit,  to 
seek  him  on  the  trail.  He  buckled  on  his  revolver,  seized 
his  gun,  when  a  cry  from  the  depths  arrested  him.  He 
leaned  over  the  ledge  and  listened.  Again  the  cry  arose, 
and  this  time  more  distinctly.  He  held  his  breath  ;  the 
blood  settled  round  his  heart  in  superstitious  terror.  It 
was  the  wailing  voice  of  a  woman  ! 

"  Ruth  !  Ruth  !  for  God's  sake  come  and  help  me  !  " 

The  blood  flew  back  hotly  to  Raftd's  cheek.  It  was 
Mornie's  voice  !  By  leaning  over  the  ledge  he  could  dis- 
tinguish something  moving  along  the  almost  precipitous  face 
of  the  cliff,  where  an  abandoned  trail,  long  since  broken  off 
and  disrupted  by  the  fall  of  a  portion  of  the  ledge,  stopped 
abruptly  a  hundred  feet  below  him.  Rand  knew  the  trail, 
a  dangerous  one  always  ;  in  its  present  condition  a  single 
misstep  would  be  fatal.  Would  she  make  that  misstep  ? 
He  shook  off  a  horrible  temptation  that  seemed  to  be  seal- 
ing his  lips  and  paralyzing  his  limbs,  and  almost  screamed 
to  her,  "  Drop  on  your  face,  hang  on  to  the  chapparal,  and 
don't  move ! "  In  another  instant,  with  a  coil  of  rope 
around  his  arm,  he  was  dashing  down  the  almost  perpen- 
dicular "  slide."  When  he  had  nearly  reached  the  level  of 
the  abandoned  trail,  he  fastened  one  end  of  the  rope  to  a 
jutting  splinter  of  granite,  and  began  to  "  lay  out,"  and 
work  his  way  laterally  along  the  face  of  the  mountain. 
Presently  he  struck  the  regular  trail  at  the  point  from 
which  the  woman  must  have  diverged. 

"  It  is  Rand  ! "  she  said,  without  lifting  her  head. 

"  It  is,"  replied  Rand  coldly.  "  Pass  the  rope  under 
your  arms,  and  I  '11  get  you  back  to  the  trail." 

"  Where  is  Ruth  ?  "  she  demanded  again,  without  moving 
She  was  trembling,  but  with  excitement  rather  than  fear. 


148  THE    TWINS   OF   TABLE   MOUNTAIN 

"  I  don't  know,"  returned  Band  impatiently.  "Come! 
the  ledge  is  already  crumbling  beneath  our  feet." 

"  Let  it  crumble !  "  said  the  woman  passionately. 

Rand  surveyed  her  with  profound  disgust,  then  passed 
the  rope  around  her  waist,  and  half  lifted,  half  swung  her 
from  her  feet.  In  a  few  moments  she  began  to  mechani- 
cally help  herself,  and  permitted  him  to  guide  her  to  a 
place  of  safety.  That  reached,  she  sank  down  again. 

The  rising  moon  shone  full  upon  her  face  and  figure. 
Through  his  growing  indignation  Eand  was  still  impressed 
and  even  startled  with  the  change  the  last  few  months  had 
wrought  upon  her.*  In  place  of  the  silly,  fanciful,  half- 
hysterical  hoyden  whom  he  had  known,  a  matured  woman, 
strong  in  passionate  self-will,  fascinating  in  a  kind  of  wild 
savage  beauty,  looked  up  at  him  as  if  to  read  his  very  soul. 

"  What  are  you  staring  at  ?  "  she  said  finally.  "  Why 
don't  you  help  me  on  ?  " 

"  Where  do  you  want  to  go  ?  "  said  Eand  quietly. 

"  Where  !  —  up  there  !  "  —  she  pointed  savagely  to  the 
top  of  the  mountain,  —  "  to  him  !  Where  else  should  I 
go  ?  "  she  said,  with  a  bitter  laugh. 

"I've  told  you  he  wasn't  there,"  said  Eand  roughly. 
"  He  hasn't  returned." 

"  I  '11  wait  for  him  !  —  do  you  hear  !  —  wait  for  him  ! 
Stay  there  till  he  comes !  If  you  won't  help  me,  I  '11  go 
alone ! " 

She  made  a  step  forward,  but  faltered,  staggered,  and  was 
obliged  to  lean  against  the  mountain  for  support.  Stains 
of  travel  were  on  her  dress ;  lines  of  fatigue  and  pain,  and 
traces  of  burning,  passionate  tears,  were  on  her  face ;  her 
black  hair  flowed  from  beneath  her  gaudy  bonnet ;  and 
shamed  out  of  his  brutality,  Eand  placed  his  strong  arm 
round  her  waist,  and,  half  carrying,  half  supporting  her, 
began  the  ascent.  Her  head  dropped  Wearily  on  his 
shoulder ;  her  arm  encircled  his  neck  ;  her  hair,  as  if  caress- 


THE   CLOUDS   GATHER  149 

ingly,  lay  across  his  breast  and  hands ;  her  grateful  eyes 
were  close  to  his,  her  breath  was  upon  his  cheek  ;  and  yet 
his  only  consciousness  was  of  the  possibly  ludicrous  figure 
he  might  present  to  his  brother  should  he  meet  him  with 
Mornie  Nixon  in  his  arms.  Not  a  word  was  spoken  lay 
either  till  they  reached  the  summit.  Believed  at  finding 
his  brother  still  absent,  he  turned  not  unkindly  toward 
the  helpless  figure  on  his  arm.  "  I  don't  see  what  makes 
Ruth  so  late,"  he  said.  "  He  's  always  here  by  sundown. 
Perhaps  "  — 

"  Perhaps  he  knows  I  'm  here,"  said  Mornie,  with  a 
bitter  laugh. 

"  I  did  n't  say  that,"  said  Rand,  "  and  I  don't  think  it. 
What  I  meant  was,  he  might  have  met  a  party  that  was 
picnicking  here  to-day.  Sol  Saunders  and  wife,  and  Miss 
Euphemia  "  — 

Mornie  flung  his  arm  away  from  her  with  a  passionate 
gesture.  "  They  here  !  picnicking  here !  —  those  people 
here  ?  " 

"Yes,"  said  Rand,  unconsciously  a  little  ashamed. 
"  They  came  here  accidently." 

Mornie's  quick  passion  had  subsided ;  she  had  sunk 
again  wearily  and  helplessly  on  a  rock  beside  him.  "  I 
suppose,"  she  said,  with  a  weak  laugh  —  "I  suppose  they 
talked  of  me.  I  suppose  they  told  you  how  —  with  their 
lies  and  fair  promises  —  they  tricked  me  out,  and  set  me 
before  an  audience  of  brutes  and  laughing  hyenas  to  make 
merry  over  !  Did  they  tell  you  of  the  insults  that  I  re- 
ceived ?  —  how  the  sins  of  my  parents  were  flung  at  me 
instead  of  bouquets  ?  Did  they  tell  you  they  could  have 
spared  me  this,  but  they  wanted  the  few  extra  dollars  taken 
in  at  the  door  ?  No  !  " 

"  They  said  nothing  of  the  kind,"  replied  Rand  surlily. 

"  Then  you  must  have  stopped  them  !  You  were  horri- 
fied enough  to  know  that  I  had  dared  to  take  the  only  honest 


150  THE   TWINS   OF   TABLE   MOUNTAIN 

way  left  me  to  make  a  living.  I  know  you,  Randolph 
Pinkney.  You  'd  rather  see  Joaquin  Muriatta,  the  Mexi- 
can bandit,  standing  before  you  to-night  with  a  revolver, 
than  the  helpless,  shamed,  miserable  Moriiie  Nixon  !  And 
you  can't  help  yourself,  unless  you  throw  me  over  the  cliff. 
Perhaps  you  'd  better,"  she  said,  with  a  bitter  laugh  that 
faded  from  her  lips  as  she  leaned,  pale  and  breathless,  against 
the  boulder. 

"  Ruth  will  tell  you"  —  began  Rand. 

"  D— n  Ruth  !  " 

Rand  turned  away. 

"  Stop !  "  she  said  suddenly,  staggering  to  her  feet.  "  I  'm 
sick  —  for  all  I  know,  dying.  God  grant  that  it  may  be  so ! 
But,  if  you  are  a  man,  you  will  help  me  to  your  cabin  — 
to  some  place  where  I  can  lie  down  now  and  be  at  rest. 
I  'm  very,  very  tired." 

She  paused ;  she  would  have  fallen  again,  but  Rand, 
seeing  more  in  her  face  than  her  voice  interpreted  to  his 
sullen  ears,  took  her  sullenly  in  his  arms  and  carried  her 
to  the  cabin.  Her  eyes  glanced  around  the  bright  parti- 
colored walls,  and  a  faint  smile  came  to  her  lips  as  she 
put  aside  her  bonnet,  adorned  with  a  companion  pinion  of 
the  bright  wings  that  covered  it. 

"  Which  is  Ruth's  bed  ?  "  she  asked. 

Rand  pointed  to  it. 

"  Lay  me  there  !  " 

Rand  would  have  hesitated,  but  with  another  look  at  her 
face  complied. 

She  lay  quite  still  a  moment.  Presently  she  said,  "  Give 
me  some  brandy  or  whiskey  !  " 

Rand  was  silent  and  confused. 

"  I  forgot,"  she  added,  half  bitterly  ;  "  I  know  you  have 
not  that  commonest  and  cheapest  of  vices." 

She  lay  quite  still  again.  Suddenly  she  raised  herself 
partly  on  her  elbow,  and  in  a  strong,  firm  voice,  said  — 
"  Rand  !  " 


THE   CLOUDS    GATHER  151 

"Yes,  Mornie." 

"  If  you  are  wise  and  practical,  as  you  assume  to  be,  you 
will  do  what  I  ask  you  without  a  question.  If  you  do  it 
at  once  you  may  save  yourself  and  Ruth  some  trouble, 
some  mortification,  and  perhaps  some  remorse  and  sorrow. 
Do  you  hear  me  ?  " 

"  Yes !  " 

"  Go  to  the  nearest  doctor  and  bring  him  here  with 
you."  i 

"Butyoit/" 

Her  voice  was  strong,  confident,  steady  and  patient. 
"  You  can  safely  leave  me  until  then." 

In  another  moment,  Rand  was  plunging  down  the 
"  slide."  But  it  was  past  midnight  when  he  struggled  over 
the  last  boulder  up  the  ascent,  dragging  the  half-exhausted 
medical  wisdom  of  Brown's  Ferry  on  his  arm. 

"I've  been  gone  long,  doctor,"  said  Rand  feverishly, 
"  and  she  looked  so  death-like  when  I  left.  If  we  should 
be  too  late  ?  " 

The  doctor  stopped  suddenly,  lifted  his  head,  and 
pricked  his  ears  like  a  hound  on  a  peculiar  scent.  "  We 
are  too  late,"  he  said,  with  a  slight  professional  laugh. 

Indignant  and  horrified,  Rand  turned  upon  him. 

"  Listen,"  said  the  doctor,  lifting  his  hand. 

Rand  listened  ;  so  intently  that  he  heard  the  familiar 
moan  of  the  river  below,  but  the  great  stony  field  lay  silent 
before  him.  And  then,  borne  across  its  bare  barren  bosom, 
like  its  own  articulation,  catne  faintly  the  feeble  wail  of  a 
new-born  babe. 


PART  III 

STORM        . 

THE  doctor  hurried  ahead  in  the  darkness.  Rana,  wb . 
had  stopped  paralyzed  at  the  ominous  sound,  started  for- 
ward again  mechanically  ;  but  as  the  cry  arose  again  more 
distinctly,  and  the  full  significance  of  the  doctor's  words 
came  to  him,  he  faltered,  stopped,  and  with  cheeks  burning 
with  shame  and  helpless  indignation,  sank  upon  a  stone 
beside  the  shaft,  and,  burying  his  face  in  his  hands,  fairly 
gave  way  to  a  burst  of  boyish  tears.  Yet  even  then,  the 
recollection  that  he  had  not  cried  since,  years  ago,  his 
mother's  dying  hands  had  joined  his  and  Ruth's  childish 
fingers  together,  stung  him  fiercely  and  dried  his  tears  in 
angry  heat  upon  his  cheeks. 

How  long  he  sat  there,  he  remembered  not ;  what  he 
thought,  he  recalled  not.  But  the  wildest  and  most  extra- 
vagant plans  and  resolves  availed  him  nothing  in  the  face 
of  this  forever  desecrated  home,  and  this  shameful  culmi- 
nation of  his  ambitious  life  on  the  mountain.  Once  he 
thought  of  flight,  but  the  reflection  that  he  would  still 
abandon  his  brother  to  shame,  perhaps  a  self-contented 
shame,  checked  him  hopelessly.  Could  he  avert  the 
future  ?  He  must  —  but  how  ?  Yet  he  could  only  sit 
and  stare  into  the  darkness  in  dumb  abstraction. 

Sitting  there,  his  eyes  fell  upon  a  peculiar  object  in  a 
crevice  of  the  ledge  beside  the  shaft.  It  was  the  tin  pail 
containing  his  dinner,  which,  according  to  their  custom,  it 
was  the  duty  of  the  brother  who  stayed  above  ground  to 
prepare  and  place  for  the  brother  who  worked  below, 


STORM  153 

Ruth  must,  consequently,  have  put  it  there  before  he  left 
that  morning,  and  Rand  had  overlooked  it  while  sharing 
the  repast  of  the  strangers  at  noon.  At  the  sight  of  this 
dumb  witness  of  their  mutual  cares  and  labors,  Rand  sighed 
—  half  in  brotherly  sorrow,  half  in  a  selfish  sense  of 
injury  done  him.  He  took  up  the  pail  mechanically, 
removed  its  cover  and  —  started  !  For  on  top  of  the  care- 
fully bestowed  provisions  lay  a  little  note,  addressed  to 
him  in  Ruth's  peculiar  scrawl. 

He  opened  it  with  feverish  hands,  held  it  in  the  light  of 
the  peaceful  moon,  and  read  as  follows  :  — 

DEAR,  DEAR  BROTHER,  —  When  you  read  this  1  shall 
be  far  away.  I  go  because  I  shall  not  stay  to  disgrace  you, 
and  because  the  girl  that  I  brought  trouble  upon  has  gone 
away  too,  to  hide  her  disgrace  and  mine  ;  and  where  she 
goes,  Rand,  I  ought  to  follow  her,  and,  please  God,  I  will  ! 
I  am  not  as  \vi?e  or  as  good  as  you  are,  but  it  seems  the 
best  I  can  rio;  and  God  bless  you,  dear  old  Randy,  boy! 
Times  and  times  again  I  've  wanted  to  tell  you  all,  and 
reckoned  to  do  so ;  but  whether  you  was  sitting  before  me 
in  the  cabin,  or  working  beside  me  in  the  drift,  I  could  n't 
get  to  look  upon  your  honest  face,  dear  brother,  and  say 
what  things  I  'd  been  keeping  from  you  so  long.  I  '11  stay 
away  until  I  've  done  what  I  ought  to  do,  and  if  you  can 
say,  "  Come,  Ruth,"  I  will  come  ;  but  until  you  can  say  it, 
the  mountain  is  yours,  Randy  boy,  the  mine  is  yours, 
the  cabin  is  yours,  all  is  yours  !  Rub  out  the  old  chalk 
marks,  Rand,  as  I  rub  them  out  here  in  my  [a  few  words 
here  were  blurred  and  indistinct,  as  if  the  moon  had  sud- 
denly become  dim-eyed  too].  God  bless  you,  brother. 

P.  S.  —  You  know  I  mean  Mornie  all  the  time.  It 's 
ohe  I  'm  going  to  seek  ;  but  don't  you  think  so  bad  of  her 
as  you  do ;  I  am  so  much  worse  then  she.  I  wanted  to 
tell  you  that  all  along,  but  I  did  n't  dare.  She  's  run 


154  THE   TWINS   OF  TABLE   MOUNTAIN 

away  from  the  Ferry,  half  crazy  ;  said  she  was  going  to 
Sacramento,  and  I  am  going  there  to  find  her  alive  or  dead. 
Forgive  me,  brother  f  Don't  throw  this  down,  right  away  ; 
hold  it  in  your  hand  a  moment,  Randy,  boy,  and  try  hard 
to  think  it 's  my  hand  in  yours.  And  so  good-by,  and 
God  bless  you,  old  Randy. 

From  your  loving  brother,  RUTH. 

A  deep  sense  of  relief  overpowered  every  other  feeling 
in  Rand's  breast.  '  It  was  clear  that  Ruth  had  not  yet  dis- 
covered the  truth  of  Mornie's  flight ;  he  was  on  his  way  to 
Sacramento,  and  before  he  could  return,  Mornie  could  be 
removed.  Once  despatched  in  some  other  direction,  with 
Ruth  once  more  returned  and  under  his  brother's  guidance, 
the  separation  could  be  made  easy  and  final.  There  was 
evidently  no  marriage  as  yet,  and  now,  the  fear  of  an  im- 
mediate meeting  over,  there  should  be  none.  For  Rand 
had  already  feared  this ;  had  recalled  the  few  infelicitous 
relations,  legal  and  illegal,  which  were  common  to  the 
adjoining  camp  ;  the  flagrantly  miserable  life  of  the  hus- 
band of  a  San  Francisco  anonyma,  who  lived  in  style  at  the 
Ferry  ;  the  shameful  carousals  and  more  shameful  quarrels 
of  the  Frenchman  and  Mexican  woman,  who  "  kept  house " 
at  "  the  Crossing ;  "  the  awful  spectacle  of  the  three  half- 
breed  Indian  children  who  played  before  the  cabin  of  a 
fellow  miner  and  townsman.  Thank  heaven,  the  Eagle's 
Nest  on  Table  Mountain  should  never  be  pointed  at  from 
the  valley  as  another. 

A  heavy  hand  upon  his  arm  brought  him  trembling  to 
his  feet.  He  turned  and  met  the  half-anxious,  half-con- 
temptuous glance  of  the  doctor. 

"  I  'm  sorry  to  disturb  you,"  he  said  drily,  "  but  it 's 
about  time  you  or  somebody  else  put  in  an  appearance  at 
that  cabin.  Luckily  for  her,  she 's  one  woman  in  a  thou- 
sand—  has  had  her  wits  about  her  better  than  some  folks 


STORM  155 

I  know,  and  has  left  me  little  to  do  but  make  her  com- 
fortable. But  she 's  gone  through  too  much  —  fought  her 
little  fight  too  gallantly  —  is  altogether  too  much  of  a 
trump  to  be  played  off  upon  now.  So  rise  up  out  of  that, 
young  man ;  pick  up  your  scattered  faculties,  and  fetch  a 
woman  —  some  sensible  creature  of  her  own  sex  —  to  look 
after  her ;  for,  without  wishing  to  be  personal,  I  'm  d — d 
if  I  trust  her  to  the  likes  of  you." 

There  was  no  mistaking  .Doctor  Duchesne's  voice  and 
manner,  and  Rand  was  affected  by  it,  as  most  people  were, 
throughout  the  valley  of  the  Stanislaus.  But  he  turned 
Tipon  him  his  frank  and  boyish  face,  and  said  simply,  "  But 
I  don't  know  any  woman,  or  where  to  get  one." 

The  doctor  looked  at.  him  again.  "Well,  I'll  find  you 
some  one,"  he  said,  softening. 

"  Thank  you,"  said  Eand. 

The  doctor  was  disappearing.  With  an  effort  Rand  re- 
called him.  "  One  moment,  doctor."  He  hesitated,  and 
his  cheeks  were  glowing.  "  You  '11  please  say  nothing 
.about  this  down  there  "  —  he  pointed  to  the  valley  —  "  for 
a  time.  And  you  '11  say  to  the  Avoman  you  send  "  — 

Dr.  Duchesne,  whose  resolute  lips  were  sealed  upon  the 
secrets  of  half  Tuolumne  county,  interrupted  him  scorn- 
fully. "  I  cannot  answer  for  the  woman  —  you  must  talk 
to  her  yourself.  As  for  me,  generally  I  keep  my  profes- 
sional visits  to  myself,  but"  —  he  laid  his  hand  on  Rand's 
arm  —  "if  I  find  out  you  're  putting  on  any  airs  to  that 
poor  creature,  —  if  on  my  next  visit  her  lips  or  her  pulse 
tell  me  you  have  n't  been  acting  on  the  square  to  her,  I  '11 
drop  a  hint  to  drunken  old  Nixon  where  his  daughter  is 
hidden.  I  reckon  she  could  stand  his  brutality  better  than 
yours.  Good-night ! " 

In  another  moment  he  was  gone.  Rand,  who  had  held 
back  his  quick  tongue,  feeling  himself  in  the  power  of  this 
man,  once  more  alone,  sank  on  a  rock,  and  buried  his  face 


156  THE   TWINS   OF   TABLE   MOUNTAIN 

in  his  hands.  Recalling  himself  in  a  moment,  he  rose, 
wiped  his  hot  eyelids,  and  staggered  toward  the  cabin.  It 
was  quite  still  now  ;  he  paused  on  the  topmost  step  and 
listened ;  there  was  no  sound  from  the  ledge  or  the  Eagle's 
Nest  that  clung  to  it.  Half  •  timidly  he  descended  the 
winding  steps,  and  paused  before  the  door  of  the  cabin. 
"  Mornie,"  he  said,  in  a  dry,  metallic  voice,  whose  only 
indication  of  the  presence  of  sickness  was  in  the  lowness 
of  its  pitch  —  "  Mornie."  There  was  no  reply.  "  Mor- 
nie," he  repeated  impatiently,  "  it 's  me  —  Band  !  If  you 
want  anything  you  're  to  call  me.  I  am  just  outside." 
Still  no  answer  came  from  the  silent  cabin.  He  pushed 
open  the  door  gently,  hesitated,  and  stepped  over  the 
threshold. 

A  change  in  the  interior  of  the  cabin  within  the  last  few 
hours,  showed  a  new  presence.  The  guns,  shovels,  picks, 
and  blankets  had  disappeared,  the  two  chairs  were  drawn 
against  the  wall,  the  table  placed  by  the  bedside.  The 
swinging  lantern  was  shaded  towards  the  bed  —  the  object 
of  Rand's  attention.  On  that  bed,  his  brother's  bed,  lay  a 
helpless  woman,  pale  from  the  long  black  hair  that  matted 
her  damp  forehead,  and  clung  to  her  hollow  cheeks.  Her 
face  was  turned  to  the  wall,  so  that  the  softened  light  fell 
upon  her  profile,  which  to  Rand,  at  that  moment,  seemed 
even  noble  and  strong.  But  the  next  moment,  his  eye  fell 
upon  the  shoulder  and  arm  that  lay  nearest  to  him,  and  the 
little  bundle  swathed  in  flannel  that  it  clasped  to  her  breast. 
His  brow  grew  dark  as  he  gazed.  The  sleeping  woman 
moved :  perhaps  it  was  an  instinctive  consciousness  of  his 
presence  —  perhaps  it  was  only  the  current  of  cold  air  from 
the  opened  door,  —  but  she  shuddered  slightly,  and,  still 
unconscious,  drew  the  child  as  if  away  from  him,  and  nearer 
to  her  breast.  The  shamed  blood  rushed  to  Rand's  face,  and 
saying  half  aloud,  "  I  'm  not  going  to  take  your  precious 
babe  away  from  you,"  turned  in  half-boyish  pettishness 


STORM  157 

away.  Nevertheless,  he  came  back  again,  shortly,  to  the 
bedside,  and  gazed  upon  them  both.  She  certainly  did 
look  altogether  more  ladylike  and  less  aggressive,  lying 
there  so  still ;  sickness,  that  cheap  refining  power  of  some 
natures,  was  not  unbecoming  to  her.  But  this  bundle  ! 
A  boyish  curiosity,  stronger  than  even  his  strong  objection 
to  the  whole  episode,  was  steadily  impelling  him  to  lift  the 
blanket  from  it.  "  I  suppose  she  'd  waken  if  I  did,"  said  * 
Rand,  "  but  I  'd  like  to  know  what  right  the  doctor  had  to 
wrap  it  up  in  my  best  flannel  shirt."  This  fresh  grievance, 
the  fruit  of  his  curiosity,  sent  him  away  again  to  meditate 
on  the  ledge.  After  a  few  moments  he  returned  again, 
opened  the  cupboard  at  the  foot  of  the  bed  softly,  took 
thence  a  piece  of  chalk,  and  scrawled  in  large  letters  upon 
the  door  of  the  cupboard,  "  If  you  want  anything,  sing  out  : 
I  'm  just  outside  —  RAND."  This  done,  he  took  a  blanket 
and  bear-skin  from  the  corner,  and  walked  to  the  door. 
But  here  he  paused,  looked  back  at  the  inscription,  evi- 
dently not  satisfied  with  it,  returned,  took  up  the  chalk, 
added  a  line,  rubbed  it  out  again,  and  repeated  this  opera- 
tion a  few  times  until  he  produced  the  polite  postscript  — 
"  Hope  you  '11  be  better  soon."  Then  he  retreated  to  the 
ledge,  spread  the  bear-skin  beside  the  door,  and  rolling 
himself  in  a  blanket,  lit  his  pipe  for  his  night-long  vigil. 
But  Rand,  although  a  martyr,  a  philosopher,  and  a  moralist, 
was  young.  In  less  then  ten  minutes  the  pipe  dropped 
from  his  lips,  and  he  was  asleep. 

He  awoke  with  a  strange  sense  of  heat  and  suffocation, 
and  with  difficulty  shook  off  his  covering.  Rubbing  his 
eyes,  he  discovered  that  an  extra  blanket  had  in  some 
mysterious  way  been  added  in  the  night,  and  beneath  his 
head  was  a  pillow  he  had  no  recollection  of  placing  there 
when  he  went  to  sleep.  By  degrees  the  events  of  the  past 
night  forced  themselves  upon  his  benumbed  faculties,  and 
he  sat  up.  The  sun  was  riding  high,  the  door  of  the  cabin 


158  THE   TWINS   OF   TABLE    MOUNTAIN 

was  open.  Stretching  himself,  he  staggered  to  his  feet, 
and  looked  in  through  the  yawning  crack  at  the  hinges. 
He  rubbed  his  eyes  again.  Was  he  still  asleep,  and  followed 
by  a  dream  of  yesterday  ?  For  there,  even  in  the  very 
attitude  he  remembered  to  have  seen  her  sitting  at  her 
luncheon  on  the  previous  day,  with  her  knitting  on  her  lap, 
sat  Mrs.  Sol  Saunders  !  What  did  it  mean  ?  or  had  she 
really  been  sitting  there  ever  since,  and  all  the  events  that 
followed  only  a  dream  ? 

A  hand  was  laid  upon  his  arm,  and  turning  he  saw  the 
murky  black  eyes  and  Indian-inked  beard  of  Sol  beside 
him.  That  gentleman  put  his  finger  on  his  lips  with  a 
theatrical  gesture,  and  then  slowly  retreating  in  the  well- 
known  manner  of  the  buried  Majesty  of  Denmark  waved 
him,  like  another  Hamlet,  to  a  remoter  part  of  the  ledge. 
This  reached,  he  grasped  Rand  warmly  by  the  hand,  shook 
it  heartily,  and  said,  "  It 's  all  right,  my  boy  ;  all  right !  " 

"  But "  —  began  Rand.  The  hot  blood  flowed  to  his 
cheeks,  he  stammered  and  stopped  short. 

"  It 's  all  right,  I  say  !  Don't  you  mind  !  We  '11  pull 
you  through." 

"  But,  Mrs/  Sol !  what  does  she  "  — 

"  Rosey  has  taken  the  matter  in  hand,  sir  ;  and  when 
that  woman  takes  a  matter  in  hand,  whether  it 's  a  baby  or 
a  rehearsal,  sir,  she  makes  it  buzz." 

"  But  how  did  she  know  ?  "  stammered  Rand. 

"  How  ?  Well,  sir,  the  scene  opened  something  like 
this,"  said  Sol  professionally.  "  Curtain  rises  on  me  and 
Mrs.  Sol.  Domestic  interior  —  practicable  chairs,  table, 
books,  newspapers.  Enter  Doctor  Duchesne  —  eccentric 
character  part,  very  popular  with  the  boys ;  tells  off-hand 
affecting  story  of  strange  woman  — '  one  more  unfortunate,' 
having  baby  in  Eagle's  Nest  —  lonely  place  on  'peaks  of 
Snowdon,'  midnight ;  eagles  screaming,  you  know,  and  far 
down  unfathomable  depths ;  only  attendant,  cold-blooded 


STORM  159 

ruffian,  evidently  father  of  child,  with  sinister  designs  on 
child  and  mother." 

"He  didn't  say  that!"  said  Hand,  with  an  agonized 
smile. 

"Order!  Sit  down  in  front!"  continued  Sol,  easily. 
"  Mrs.  Sol  highly  interested  —  a  mother  herself  —  demands 
name  of  place  ?  '  Table  Mountain  ! '  No,  it  cannot  be  — 
it  is !  Excitement.  Mystery  !  Rosey  rises  to  occasion 
—  comes  to  the  front :  '  Some  one  must  go  ;  I  —  I  — 
will  go  myself !  '  Myself,  coming  to  the  centre  :  '  Not 
alone,  dearest;  I — I  will  accompany  you  !'  A  shriek  at 
right  upper  entrance.  Enter  the  Marysville  Pet.  'I  have 
heard  all.  'T  is  a  base  calumny.  It  cannot  be  he  !  Ran- 
dolph !  Never ! '  '  Dare  you  accompany  us  ?  '  'I  will ! ' 
Tableau  !  " 

"Is  Miss  Euphemia  —  here?"  gasped  Rand,  practical, 
even  in  his  embarrassment. 

"  Or-r-rder  !  Scene  second.  Summit  of  mountain  — 
moonlight.  Peaks  of  Snowdon  in  distance.  Right  — 
lonely  cabin.  Enter  slowly  up  defile,  Sol,  Mrs.  Sol,  the 
Pet.  Advance  slowly  to  cabin.  Suppressed  shriek  from 
the  Pet,  who  rushes  to  recumbent  figure  —  Left  —  dis- 
covered lying  beside  cabin  door.  *  'T  is  he  !  Hist !  —  he 
sleeps  ! '  Throws  blanket  over  him  and  retires  up  stage  — 
so."  Here  Sol  achieved  a  vile  imitation  of  the  Pet's  most 
enchanting  stage  manner.  "  Mrs.  Sol  advances  —  Centre  — 
throws  open  door !  Shriek !  "T  is  Mornie  —  the  lost 
found  ! '  The  Pet  advances  —  *  And  the  father  is  —  ?  ' 
'  Not  Rand  ! '  The  Pet  kneeling,  « Just  Heaven,  I  thank 
thee!'  'No,  it  is'"  — 

"  Hush !  "  said  Rand  appealingly,  looking  toward  the 
cabin. 

"  Hush  it  is  !  "  said  the  actor  good-naturedly  ;  "  but  it 's 
all  right,  Mr.  Rand  — we  '11  pull  you  through." 

Later  in  the  morning,  Rand  learned  that  Mornie's  ill- 


160  THE    TWINS   OF   TABLE   MOUNTAIN 

fated  connection  with  the  "  Star  Variety  Troupe  "  had  been 
a  source  of  anxiety  to  Mrs.  Sol,  and  she  had  reproached 
herself  for  the  girl's  infelicitous  debut. 

"But  Lord  bless  you,  Mr.  Rand,"  said  Sol,  "it  was  all 
in  the  way  of  business.  She  came  to  us  —  was  fresh  and 
new  —  her  chance,  looking  at  it  professionally,  was  as  good 
as  any  amateur's ;  but,  what  with  her  relations  here,  and 
her  bein'  known,  she  did  n't  take  !  We  lost  money  on  her  ! 
It 's  natural  she  should  feel  a  little  ugly.  We  all  do  when 
we  get  sorter  kicked  back  on  to  ourselves,  and  find  we  can't 
stand  alone.  Why,  you  would  n't  believe  it,"  he  continued, 
with  a  moist  twinkle  of  his  black  eyes,  "  but  the  night  I 
lost  my  little  Rosey  of  diphtheria  in  Gold  Hill,  the  child 
was  down  on  the  bills  for  a  comic  song,  and  I  had  to  drag 
Mrs.  Sol  on,  cut  up  as  she  was,  and  filled^  up  with  that 
much  of  old  Bourbon  to  keep  her  nerves  stiff,  so  she  could 
do  an  old  gag  with  me  to  gain  time  and  make  up  the 
'  variety.'  Why,  sir,  when  I  came  to  the  front  /  was  ugly  ! 
And  when  one  of  the  boys  in  the  front  row  sang  out, 
'  Don't  expose  that  poor  child  to  the  night  air,  Sol '  — 
meaning  Mrs.  Sol,  I  acted  ugly.  No,  sir,  it 's  human 
nature ;  and  it  was  quite  natural  that  Mornie,  when  she 
caught  sight  o'  Mrs.  Sol's  face  last  night,  should  rise  up 
and  cuss  us  both.  Lord,  if  she  'd  only  acted  like  that ! 
But  the  old  lady  got  her  quiet  at  last,  and,  as  I  said  before, 
it 's  all  right,  and  we  '11  pull  her  through  !  But  don't  you 
thank  us ;  it 's  a  little  matter  betwixt  us  and  Mornie. 
We  've  got  everything  fixed,  so  that  Mrs.  Sol  can  stay  right 
along.  We  '11  pull  Mornie  through,  and  get  her  away  from 
this  and  her  baby  too,  as  soon  as  we  can.  You  won't  get 
mad  if  I  tell  you  something  ?  "  said  Sol,  with  a  half-apolo- 
getic laugh.  "  Mrs.  Sol  was  rather  down  on  you  the  other 
day  —  hated  you  on  sight,  and  preferred  your  brother  to 
you  ;  but  when  she  found,  he  'd  run  off  and  left  you  —  you 
don't  mind  my  sayin'  it  —  a  '  mere  boy,'  to  take  what 


STORM  161 

oughter  be  his  place,  why  she  just  wheeled  round  agin' 
him.  I  suppose  he  got  flustered  and  could  n't  face  the 
music.  Never  left  a  word  of  explanation  ?  Well,  it 
wasn't  exactly  square  —  though  I  tell  the  old  woman  it 's 
human  nature.  He  might  have  dropped  a  hint  where  he 
was  goin'.  Well,  there,  I  won't  say  a  word  more  agin' 
him.  I  know  how  you  feel !  Hush  it  is !  " 

It  was  the  firm  conviction  of  the  simple-minded  Sol  that 
no  one  knew  the  various  natural  indications  of  human 
passion  better  than  himself ;  perhaps  it  was  one  of  the 
fallacies  of  his  profession  that  the  expression  of  all  human 
passion  was  limited  to  certain  conventional  signs  and 
sounds.  Consequently,  when  Rand  colored  violently,  be- 
came confused,  stammered,  and  at  last  turned  hastily  away, 
the  good-hearted  fellow  instantly  recognized  the  unfailing 
evidence  of  modesty  and  innocence  embarrassed  by  recogni- 
tion. As  for  Rand,  I  fear  his  shame  was  only  momentary : 
confirmed  in  the  belief  of  his  ulterior  wisdom  and  virtue; 
his  first  embarrassment  over,  he  was  not  displeased  with 
this  half-way  tribute,  and  really  believed  that  the  time 
would  come  when  Mr.  Sol  should  eventually  praise  his 
sagacity  and  reservation,  and  acknowledge  that  he  was 
something  more  than  a  mere  boy.  He  nevertheless  shrank 
from  meeting  Mornie  that  morning,  and  was  glad  that  the 
presence  of  Mrs.  Sol  relieved  him  from  that  duty. 

The  day  passed  uneventfully.  Rand  busied  himself  in 
his  usual  avocations,  and  constructed  a  temporary  shelter 
for  himself  and  Sol  beside  the  shaft,  besides  rudely  shaping 
a  few  necessary  articles  of  furniture  for  Mrs.  Sol. 

"  It  will  be  a  little  spell  yet  afore  Mornie  's  able  to  be 
moved,"  suggested  Sol,  "  and  you  might  as  well  be  com- 
fortable." 

Rand  sighed  at  this  prospect,  yet  presently  forgot  him- 
self in  the  good  humor  of  his  companion,  whose  admiration 
for  himself  he  began  to  patronizingly  admit.  There  was 


162  THE   TWINS   OF   TABLE   MOUNTAIN 

no  sense  of  degradation  in  accepting  the  friendship  of  this 
man  who  had  traveled  so  far,  seen  so  much,  and  yet,  as  a 
practical  man  of  the  world,  Eand  felt,  was  so  inferior  to 
himself.  The  absence  of  Miss  Euphemia,  who  had  early 
left  the  mountain,  was  a  source  of  odd,  half-definite  relief. 
Indeed,  when  he  closed  his  eyes  to  rest  that  night,  it  was 
with  a  sense  that  the  reality  of  his  situation  was  not  as 
bad  as  he  had  feared.  Once  only,  the  figure  of  his  brother, 
haggard,  weary  and  footsore,  on  his  hopeless  quest,  wander- 
ing in  lonely  trails  'and  lonelier  settlements,  came  across 
his  fancy ;  but  with  it  came  the  greater  fear  of  his  return, 
and  the  pathetic  figure  was  banished.  "  And  besides,  he  's 
in  Sacramento  by  this  time,  and  like  as  not  forgotten  us 
all,"  he  muttered  ;  and  twining  this  poppy  and  mandragora 
around  his  pillow,  he  fell  asleep. 

His  spirits  had  quite  returned  the  next  morning,  and 
once  or  twice  he  found  himself  singing  while  at  work  in  the 
shaft.  The  fear  that  Ruth  might  return  to  the  mountain 
before  he  could  get  rid  of  Mornie,  and  the  slight  anxiety 
that  had  grown  upon  him  to  know  something  of  his  brother's 
movements,  and  to  be  able  to  govern  them  as  he  wished, 
caused  him  to  hit  upon  the  plan  of  constructing  an  ingen- 
ious advertisement  to  be  published  in  the  San  Francisco 
journals,  wherein  the  missing  Ruth  should  be  advised  that 
news  of  his  quest  should  be  communicated  to  him  by  "  a 
friend,"  through  the  same  medium,  after  an  interval  of  two 
weeks.  Full  of  this  amiable  intention,  he  returned  to  the 
surface  to  dinner.  Here,  to  his  momentary  confusion,  he 
met  Miss  Euphemia,  who,  in  absence  of  Sol,  was  assisting 
Mrs.  Sol  in  the  details  of  the  household. 

If  the  honest  frankness  with  which  that  young  lady 
greeted  him  was  not  enough  to  relieve  his  embarrassment, 
he  would  have  forgotten  it  in  the  utterly  new  and  changed 
aspect  she  presented.  Her  extravagant  walking  costume 
of  the  previous  day  was  replaced  by  some  bright  calico,  a 


STORM  163 

little  white  apron,  and  a  broad-brimmed  straw  hat,  which 
seemed  to  Rand,  in  some  odd  fashion,  to  restore  her  original 
girlish  simplicity.  The  change  was  certainly  not  unbe- 
coming to  her  :  if  her  waist  was  not  as  tightly  pinched,  a 
la  mode,  there  still  was  an  honest,  youthful  plumpness  about 
it ;  her  step  was  freer  for  the  absence  of  her  high-heel  boots  ; 
and  even  the  hand  she  -extended  to  Rand,  if  not  quite  so 
small  as  in  her  tight  gloves,  and  a  little  brown  from  expos- 
ure, was  magnetic  in  its  strong,  kindly  grasp.  There  was 
perhaps  a  slight  suggestion  of  the  practical  Mr.  Sol  in  her 
wholesome  presence,  and  Rand  could  not  help  wondering 
if  Mrs.  Sol  had  ever  been  a  Gold  Hill  "  pet "  before  her 
marriage  with  Mr.  Sol.  The  young  girl  noticed  his  curious 
glance. 

"  You  never  saw  me  in  my  rehearsal  dress  before,"  she 
said,  with  a  laugh  ;  "  but  I  'm  not  '  company '  to-day,  and 
did  n't  put  on  my  best  harness  to  knock  round  in.  I  sup- 
pose I  look  dreadful." 

"  I  don't  think  you  look  bad,"  said  Rand  simply. 

"  Thank  you,"  said  Euphemia,  with  a  laugh  and  a  curt- 
sey. "  But  this  is  n't  getting  the  dinner." 

As  part  of  that  operation  evidently  was  the  taking  off  of 
her  hat,  the  putting  up  of  some  thick  blonde  locks  that  had 
escaped,  and  the  rolling  up  of  her  sleeves  over  a  pair  of 
strong  rounded  arms,  Rand  lingered  near  her.  All  trace 
of  the  Pet's  previous  professional  coquetry  was  gone  —  per- 
haps it  was  only  replaced  by  a  more  natural  one  —  but  as 
she  looked  up  and  caught  sight  of  Rand's  interested  face, 
she  laughed  again  and  colored  a  little.  Slight  as  was  the 
blush,  it  was  sufficient  to  kindle  a  sympathetic  fire  in  Rand's 
own  cheeks,  which  was  so  utterly  unexpected  to  him  that  he 
turned  on  his  heel  in  confusion.  "  I  reckon  she  thinks  I  'm 
soft  and  silly,  like  Ruth,"  he  soliloquized,  and  determining 
not  to  look  at  her  again,  betook  himself  to  a  distant  and 
contemplative  pipe.  In  vain  did  Miss  Euphemia  address 


164  THE   TWINS   OF   TABLE    MOUNTAIN 

herself  to  the  ostentatious  getting  of  the  dinner  in  full  view 
of  him ;  in  vain  did  she  bring  the  coffee-pot  away  from  the 
fire,  and  nearer  Rand,  with  the  apparent  intention  of  exam- 
ining its  contents  in  a  better  light ;  in  vain,  while  wiping  a 
plate,  did  she,  absorbed  in  the  distant  prospect,  walk  to  the 
verge  of  the  mountain,  and  become  statuesque  and  forgetful. 
The  sulky  young  gentleman  took  no  outward  notice  of  her. 

Mrs.  Sol's  attendance  upon  Mornie  prevented  her  leaving 
the  cabin,  and  Rand  and  Miss  Euphemia  dined  in  the  open 
air  alone.  The  ridiculousness  of  keeping  up  a  formal 
attitude  to  his  solitary  companion  caused  Rand  to  relax  ; 
but,  to  his  astonishment,  the  Pet  seemed  to  have  become 
correspondingly  distant  and  formal.  After  a  few  moments 
of  discomfort,  Rand,  who  had  eaten  little,  arose,  and  "  be- 
lieved he  would  go  back  to  work." 

"  Ah  yes,"  said  the  Pet,  with  an  indifferent  air,  "  I  sup- 
pose you  must.  Well,  good-by,  Mr.  Pinkney." 

Rand  turned.  "  You  are  not  going  ?  "  he  asked,  in  some 
uneasiness. 

"  I've  got  some  work  to  do,  too,"  returned  Miss  Eu- 
phemia, a  little  curtly. 

"  But,"  said  the  practical  Rand,  "  I  thought  you  allowed 
that  you.  were  fixed  to  stay  until  to-morrow  ?  " 

But  here  Miss  Euphemia,  with  rising  color  and  slight 
acerbity  of  voice,  was  not  aware  that  she  was  "  fixed  to  stay  " 
anywhere,  least  of  all  when  she  was  in  the  way.  More  than 
that,  she  must  say,  although  perhaps  it  made  no  difference, 
and  she  ought  not  to  say  it  —  that  she  was  not  in  the  habit 
of  intruding  upon  gentlemen,  who  plainly  gave  her  to  under- 
stand that  her  company  was  not  desirable.  She  did  not 
know  why  she  said  this  —  of  course  it  could  make  no  differ- 
ence to  anybody  who  did  n't,  of  course,  care ;  but  she  only 
wanted  to  say  that  she  only  came  here  because  her  dear 
friend,  her  adopted  mother  —  and  a  better  woman  never 
breathed  —  had  come  and  had  asked  her  to  stay.  Of  course 


STORM  16,*) 

Mrs.  Sol  was  an  intruder  herself  —  Mr.  Sol  was  an  intruder 

—  they  were  all  intruders  ;  she  only  wondered  that  Mr. 
Pinkney  had  borne  with  them  so  long.     She  knew  it  was 
an  awful  thing  to  be  here,  taking  care  of   a  poor  —  poor, 
helpless  woman ;    but  perhaps  Mr.   Rand's  brother  might 
forgive  them  if  he  could  n't.     But  no  matter,  she  would  go 

—  Mr.  Sol  would  go  —  all  would   go,  and  then,  perhaps, 
Mr.  Rand  — 

She  stopped  breathless ;  she  stopped  with  the  corner  of 
her  apron  against  her  tearful  hazel  eyes.;  she  stopped  with 
what  was  more  remarkable  than  all  —  Rand's  arm  actually 
around  her  waist,  and  his  astonished,  alarmed  face  within 
a  few  inches  of  her  own. 

"  Why,  Miss  Euphemia,  Phemie,  my  dear  girl  !  I  never 
meant  anything  like  that,"  said  Rand  earnestly.  "  I  really 
did  n't  now  !  Come  now  !  " 

"  You  never  once  spoke  to  me  when  I  sat  down,"  said 
Miss  Euphemia,  feebly  endeavoring  to  withdraw  from 
Rand's  grasp. 

"  I  really  did  n't !  Oh,  come  now,  look  here  !  I  did  n't ! 
Don't !  There  's  a  dear  —  there  !  " 

This  last  conclusive  exposition  was  a  kiss.  Miss  Eu- 
phemia was  not  quick  enough  to  release  herself  from  his 
arms.  He  anticipated  that  act  a  full  half-second,  and  had 
dropped  his  own,  pale  and  breathless. 

The  girl  recovered  herself  first.  "  There,  I  declare,  I  'm 
forgetting  Mrs.  Sol's  coffee  !  "  she  exclaimed,  hastily,  and 
snatching  up  the  coffee-pot,  disappeared.  When  she  re- 
turned, Rand  was  gone.  Miss  Euphemia  busied  herself, 
demurely,  in  clearing  up  the  dishes,  with  the  tail  of  her  eye 
sweeping  the  horizon  of  the  summit  level  around  her.  But 
no  Rand  appeared.  Presently  she  began  to  laugh  quietly 
to  herself.  This  occurred  several  times  during  her  occupa- 
tion, which  was  somewhat  prolonged.  The  result  of  this 
meditative  hilarity  was  summed  up  in  a  somewhat  grave 


166  THE   TWINS   OF   TABLE   MOUNTAIN 

and  thoughtful  deduction,  as  she  walked  slowly  back  to 
the  cabin,  "  I  do  believe  I  'm  the  first  woman  that  that  boy 
ever  kissed."  • 

Miss  Euphemia  stayed  that  day  and  the  next,  and  Rand 
forgot  his  embarrassment.  By  what  means,  I  know  not, 
Miss  Euphemia  managed  to  restore  Rand's  confidence  in 
himself  and  in  her,  and  in  a  little  ramble  on  the  mountain 
side,  got  hirn  to  relate,  albeit  somewhat  reluctantly,  the 
particulars  of  his  rescue  of  Mornie  from  her  dangerous 
position  on  the  broken  trail. 

"  And  if  you  had  n't  got  there  as  soon  as  you  did,  she  'd 
have  fallen  ?  "  asked  the  Pet. 

"  I  reckon,"  returned  Rand  gloomily,  "  she  was  sorter 
dazed  and  crazed  like." 

"  And  you  saved  her  life  ?  " 

"  I  suppose  so,  if  you  put  it  that  way,"  said  Rand 
sulkily. 

"  But  how  did  you  get  her  up  the  mountain  again  ?  " 

"  Oh,  I  got  her  up,"  returned  Rand  moodily. 

"  But  how  ?  Really,  Mr.  Rand,  you  don't  know  how 
interesting  this  is.  It 's  as  good  as  a  play,"  said  the  Pet, 
with  a  little  excited  laugh. 

"Oh,  I  carried  her  up  !  " 

"  In  your  arms  ?  " 

"  Y-e-e-s.'v 

Miss  Euphemia  paused,  and  bit  off  the  stalk  of  a  flower, 
made  a  wry  face,  and  threw  it  away  from  her  in  disgust. 

Then  she  dug  a  few  tiny  holes  in  the  earth  with  her 
parasol,  and  buried  bits  of  the  flower-stalk  in  them,  as  if 
they  had  been  tender  memories.  "  I  suppose  you  knew 
Mornie  very  well  ?  "  she  asked. 

"I  used  to  run  across  her  in  the  woods,"  responded 
Rand  shortly,  "  a  year  ago.  I  did  n't  know  her  so  well 
then  as  "  —  He  stopped. 

"  As  what  ?  as  now  ?  "  asked  the  Pet  abruptly. 


STORM  167 

Rand,  who  was  coloring  over  his  narrow  escape  from  a 
topic  which  a  delicate  kindness  of  Sol  had  excluded  from 
their  intercourse  on  the  mountain,  stammered  "  As  you  do 
—  I  meant." 

The  Pet  tossed  her  head  a  little,  "  Oh,  I  don't  know  her 
at  all  —  except  through  Sol !  " 

Rand  stared  hard  at  this.  The  Pet,  who  was  looking  at 
him  intently,  said,  "  Show  me  the  place  where  you  saw 
Mornie  clinging  that  night." 

"  It 's  dangerous,"  suggested  Rand. 

"  You  mean  I  'd  be  afraid  !  Try  me  !  I  don't  believe 
she  was  so  dreadfully  frightened  !  " 

"  Why  ?  "  asked  Rand,  in  astonishment. 

"  Oh,  —  because  "  — 

Rand  sat  down  in  vague  wonderment. 

"  Show  it  to  me,"  continued  the  Pet,  "  or  —  I  '11  find  it 
alone  !  " 

Thus  challenged,  he  arose,  and  after  a  few  moments' 
climbing  stood  with  her  upon  the  trail.  "  You  see  that 
thorn-bush  where  the  rock  has  fallen  away.  It  was  just 
there  !  It  is  not  safe  to  go  farther.  No,  really  !  Miss 
Euphemia  !  Please  don't !  It 's  almost  certain  death  !  " 

But  the  giddy  girl  had  darted  past  him,  and,  face  to  the 
wall  of  the  clitf,  was  creeping  along  the  dangerous  path. 
Rand  followed  mechanically.  Once  or  twice  the  trail 
crumbled  beneath  her  feet,  but  she  clung  to  a  projecting 
root  of  chapparal,  and  laughed.  She  had  almost  reached 
her  elected  goal  when,  slipping,  the  treacherous  chapparal 
she  clung  to  yielded  in  her  grasp,  and  Rand,  with  a  cry, 
sprung  forward.  But  the  next  instant  she  quickly  trans- 
ferred her  hold  to  a  cleft  in  the  cliff  and  was  safe.  Not  so 
her  companion.  The  soil  beneath  him,  loosened  by  the 
impulse  of  his  spring,  slipped  away ;  he  was  falling  with 
it,  when  she  caught  him  sharply  with  her  disengaged  hand, 
and  together  they  scrambled  to  a  more  secure  footing. 


168  THE   TWINS   OF   TABLE    MOUNTAIN 

"  I  could  have  reached  it  alone,"  said  the  Pet,  "  if  you  M 
left  me  alone." 

"  Thank  Heaven,  we  're  saved,"  said  Rand  gravely. 

"  And  without  a  rope,"  said  Miss  Euphemia  signift 
cantly. 

Rand  did  not  understand  her.  But  as  they  slowlj 
returned  to  the  summit  he  stammered  out  the  always  diffi- 
cult thanks  of  a  man  who  has  been  physically  helped  b}1 
one  of  the  weaker  sex.  Miss  Euphemia  was  quick  to  se( 
her  error. 

"  I  might  have  made  you  lose  your  footing  by  catching  at 
you,"  she  said  meekly.  "  But  I  was  so  frightened  for  you, 
and  could  not  help  it." 

The  superior  animal,  thoroughly  bamboozled,  thereupon 
complimented  her  on  her  dexterity. 

"  Oh,  that 's  nothing,"  she  said,  with  a  sigh.  "  I  used 
to  do  the  flying-trapeze  business  with  papa  when  I  was 
a  child,  and  I've  not  forgotten  it."  With  this  and  other 
confidences  of  her  early  life,  in  which  Rand  betrayed  con- 
siderable interest,  they  beguiled  the  tedious  ascent.  "  I 
ought  to  have  made  you  carry  me  up,"  said  the  lady,  with 
a  little  laugh,  when  they  reached  the-  summit ;  "  but  you 
have  n't  known  me  as  long  as  you  have  Mornie  —  have 
you  ? "  With  this  mysterious  speech  she  bade  Rand 
"  Good-night,"  and  hurried  off  to  the  cabin. 

And  so  a  week  passed  by  —  the  week  so  dreaded  by 
Rand,  yet  passed  so  pleasantly,  that  at  times  it  seemed  as 
if  that  dread  were  only  a  trick  of  his  fancy,  or  as  if  the 
circumstances  that  surrounded  him  were  different  from  what 
lie  believed  them  to  be.  On  the  seventh  day  the  doctor 
had  stayed  longer  than  usual,  and  Rand,  who  had  been 
sitting  with  Euphemia  on  the  ledge  by  the  shaft,  watching 
the  sunset,  had  barely  time  to  withdraw  his  hand  from  hers 
as  Mrs.  Sol,  a  trifle  pale  and  wearied- looking,  approached 
him. 


STORM  169 

"I  don't  like  to  trouble  you,"  she  said  —  indeed  they 
had  seldom  troubled  him  with  the  details  of  Mornie's  con- 
valescence, or  even  her  needs  and  requirements,  —  "  but  the 
doctor  is  alarmed  about  Mornie,  and  she  has  asked  to  see 
you.  I  think  you  'd  better  go  in  and  speak  to  her.  You 
know,"  continued  Mrs.  Sol  delicately,  "  you  have  n't  been 
in  there  since  the  night  she  was  taken  sick,  and  maybe  a 
new  face  might  do  her  good." 

The  guilty  blood  flew  to  Rand's  face  as  he  stammered, 
"  I  thought  I  'd  be  in  the  way.  I  did  n't  believe  she  cared 
much  to  see  me.  Is  she  worse  ?  " 

"The  doctor  is  looking  very  anxious,"  said  Mrs.  Sol 
simply. 

The  blood  returned  from  Rand's  face,  and  settled  around 
his  heart.  He  turned  very  pale.  He  had  consoled  him- 
self always  for  his  complicity  in  Ruth's  absence,  that  he 
was  taking  good  care  of  Mornie,  or,  what  is  considered  by 
most  selfish  natures  an  equivalent  —  permitting  or  encour- 
aging some  one  else  to  "  take  good  care  of  her,"  but  here 
was  a  contingency  utterly  unforeseen.  It  did  not  occur  to 
him  that  this  "  taking  good  care "  of  her  could  result  in 
anything  but  a  perfect  solution  of  her  troubles,  or  that  there 
could  be  any  future  to  her  condition  but  one  of  recovery. 
But  what  if  she  should  die  ?  A  sudden  and  helpless  sense 
of  his  responsibility  to  Ruth  —  to  —  her  —  brought  him 
trembling  to  his  feet. 

He  hurried  to  the  cabin,  where  Mrs.  Sol  left  him  with  a 
word  of  caution.  "  You  '11  find  her  changed  and  quiet  — 
very  quiet.  If  I  was  you  I  would  n't  say  anything  to  bring 
back  her  old  self." 

The  change  which  Rand  saw  was  so  great,  the  face  that 
was  turned  to  him  so  quiet,  that,  with  a  new  fear  upon  him, 
he  would  have  preferred  the  savage  eyes  and  reckless  mien 
of  the  old  Mornie  whom  he  hated.  With  his  habitual 
impulsiveness  he  tried  to  say  something  that  should  express 


170  THE   TWINS   OF   TABLE    MOUNTAIN 

that  fact  not  unkindly,  —  but  faltered,  and  awkwardly  sank 
into  the  chair  by  her  bedside. 

"  I  don't  wonder  you  stare  at  me  now,"  she  said,  in  a 
far-off  voice ;  "  it  seems  to  you  strange  to  see  me  lying  here 
so  quiet.  You  are  thinking  how  wild  I  was  when  I  came 
here  that  night.  I  must  have  been  crazy,  I  think.  I 
dreamed  that  I  said  dreadful  things  to  you ;  but  you  must 
forgive  me,  and  not  mind  it.  I  was  crazy  then."  She 
stopped  and  folded  the  blanket  between  her  thin  fingers. 
"  I  did  n't  ask  you  to  come  here  to  tell  you  that,  or  to 
remind  you  of  it,  but  —  but  when  I  was  crazy,  I  said  so 
many  worse,  dreadful  things  of  him  ;  and  you  —  you  will 
be  left  behind  to  tell  him  of  it." 

Band  was  vaguely  murmuring  something  to  the  effect 
that  "  he  knew  she  did  n't  mean  anything,"  that  "  she 
mustn't  think  of  it  again,"  that  "he'd  forgotten  all  about 
it,"  when  she  stopped  him  with  a  tired  gesture. 

"  Perhaps  I  was  wrong  to  think  that,  after  I  am  gone, 
you  would  care  to  tell  him  anything.  Perhaps  I  'm  wrong 
to  think  of  it  at  all,  or  to  care  what  he  will  think  of  me  — 
except  for  the  sake  of  the  child  —  his  child,  Rand  !  —  that 
I  must  leave  behind  me.  He  will  know  that  it  never 
abused  him.  No,  God  bless  its  sweet  heart !  it  never  was 
wild  and  wicked  and  hateful,  like  its  cruel,  crazy  mother. 
And  he  will  love  it ;  and  you,  perhaps,  will  love  it  too  — 
just  a  little,  Rand  !  Look  at  it!  "  She  tried  to  raise  the 
helpless  bundle  beside  her  in  her  arms,  but  failed.  "  You 
must  lean  over,"  she  said,  faintly,  to  Rand.  "  It  looks 
like  him,  does  n't  it  ?  " 

Rand,  with  wondering,  embarrassed  eyes,  tried  to  see 
some  resemblance  in  the  little  blue  red  oval,  to  the  sad, 
wistful  face  of  his  brother,  which  even  then  was  haunting 
him  from  some  mysterious  distance.  He  kissed  the  child's 
forehead,  but  even  then  so  vaguely  and  perfunctorily,  that 
the  mother  sighed,  and  drew  it  closer  to  her  breast. 


HE  SANK  INTO  THE  CHAIR 


,  STORM  171 

"  The  doctor  says,"  she  continued,  in  a  calmer  voice, 
"  that  I  'm  not  doing  as  well  as  I  ought  to.  I  don't  think," 
she  faltered,  with  something  of  her  old  bitter  laugh,  "  that 
I  'm  ever  doing  as  well  as  I  ought  to,  and  perhaps  it 's  not 
strange  now  that  I  don't.  And  he  says,  that  in  case  any- 
thing happens  to  me,  I  ought  to  look  ahead !  I  have 
looked  ahead  !  It 's  a  dark  look  ahead,  Rand  —  a  horror 
of  blackness,  without  kind  faces,  without  the  baby,  without 
—  without  him  !  " 

She  turned  her  face  away,  and  laid  it  on  the  bundle  by 
her  side.  It  was  so  quiet  in  the  cabin,  that  through  the 
open  door,  beyond,  the  faint  rhythmical  moan  of  the  pines 
below  was  distinctly  heard. 

"  I  know  it 's  foolish  —  but  that  is  what  '  looking  ahead ' 
always  meant  to  me,"  she  said,  with  a  sigh.  "  But,  since 
the  doctor  has  been  gone,  I  've  talked  to  Mrs.  Sol,  and  find 
it 's  for  the  best.  And  I  look  ahead,  and  see  more  clearly. 
I  look  ahead,  and  see  my  disgrace  removed  far  away  from 
him  and  you.  I  look  ahead,  and  see  you  and  he  living 
together,  happily,  as  you  did  before  I  came  between  you. 
I  look  ahead,  and  see  my  past  life  forgotten,  my  faults  for- 
given, and  I  think  I  see  you  both  loving  my  baby,-  and 
perhaps  loving  me  a  little  for  its  sake.  Thank  you,  Rand, 
thank  you  !  " 

For  Rand's  hand  had  caught  hers  beside  the  pillow,  and 
he  was  standing  over  her,  whiter  than  she.  Something  in 
the  pressure  of  his  hand  emboldened  her  to  go  on,  and 
even  lent  a  certain  strength  to  her  voice. 

"When  it  comes  to  that,  Rand,  you'll  not  let  these 
people  take  the  baby  away.  You  '11  keep  it  here  with  you 
until  he  comes.  And  something  tells  me  that  he  will  come 
when  I  am  gone.  You  '11  keep  it  here  in  the  pure  air  and 
sunlight  of  the  mountain,  and  out  of  those  wicked  depths 
below ;  and  when  I  am  gone,  and  they  are  gone,  and  only 
you  and  Ruth  and  baby  are  here,  maybe  you  '11  think  that 


172  THE    TWINS    OF   TABLE   MOUNTAIN 

it  came  to  you  in  a  cloud  on  the  mountain  —  a  cloud  that 
lingered  only  long  enough  to  drop  its  burden,  and  faded, 
leaving  the  sunlight  and  dew  behind.  What  is  it  —  Rand  ? 
What  are  you  looking  at  ?  " 

"  I  was  thinking,"  said  Rand,  in  a  strange  altered  voice, 
"  that  I  must  trouble  you  to  let  me  take  down  those  duds 
and  furbelows  that  hang  on  the  wall,  so  that  I  can  get  at 
some  traps  of  mine  behind  them."  He  took  some  articles 
from  the  wall,  replaced  the  dresses  of  Mrs.  Sol,  and 
answered  Mornie's  look  of  inquiry.  "  I  was  only  getting 
at  my  purse  and  my  revolver,"  he  said,  showing  them. 
"  I  've  got  to  get  some  stores  at  the  Ferry,  by  daylight." 

Mornie  sighed.  "  I  'm  giving  you  great  trouble,  Rand, 
I  know ;  but  it  won't  be  for  long." 

He  muttered  something,  took  her  hand  again,  and  bade 
her  "  good-night."  When  he  reached  the  door  he  looked 
back.  The  light  was  shining  full  upon  her  face  as  she 
lay  there  with  her  babe  on  her  breast,  bravely  "  looking 
ahead." 


PAKT   IV 

THE    CLOUDS    PASS 

IT  was  early  morning  at  the  Ferry.  The  "  up  coach  "  had 
passed  with  lights  unextinguished,  and  the  "  outsides  "  still 
asleep.  The  ferryman  had  gone  up  to  the  Ferry  Mansion 
House,  swinging  his  lantern,  and  had  found  the  sleepy- 
looking  "  all-night  "  bar-keeper  on  the  point  of  withdrawing 
for  the  day  on  a  mattress  under  the  bar.  An  Indian  half- 
breed,  porter  of  the  Mansion  House,  was  washing  out  the 
stains  of  recent  nocturnal  dissipation  from  the  bar-room 
and  veranda,  a  few  birds  were  twittering  on  the  cotton- 
woods  beside  the  river,  a  bolder  few  had  alighted  upon  the 
veranda  and  were  trying  to  reconcile  the  existence  of  so 
much  lemon-peel  and  cigar  stumps  with  their  ideas  of  a 
beneficent  Creator.  A  faint  earthy  freshness  and  perfume 
rose  along  the  river  banks.  Deep  shadows  still  lay  upon 
the  opposite  shore,  but  in  the  distance,  four  miles  away, 
morning  along  the  level  crest  of  Table  Mountain  walked 
with  rosy  tread. 

The  sleeping  bar-keeper  was  that  morning  doomed  to  dis- 
appointment. For  scarcely  had  the  coach  passed,  wher> 
steps  were  heard  upon  the  veranda,  and  a  weary  dusty 
traveler  threw  his  blanket  and  knapsack  to  the  porter,  and 
then  dropped  into  a  vacant  arm-chair,  with  his  eyes  fixed 
on  the  distant  crest  of  Table  Mountain.  He  remained 
motionless  for  some  time,  until  the  bar-keeper,  who  had 
already  concocted  the  conventional  welcome  of  the  Mansion 
House,  appeared  with  it  in  a  glass,  put  it  upon  the  table, 
glanced  at  the  stranger,  and  Chen,  thoroughly  awake,  cried 
out  — 


174  THE   TWINS   OF   TABLE   MOUNTAIN 

"  Ruth  Pinkney  —  or  I  'm  a  Chinaman  !  " 

The  stranger  lifted  his  eyes  wearily.  Hollow  circles 
were  around  their  orbits,  haggard  lines  were  in  his  cheeks. 
But  it  was  Ruth. 

He  took  the  glass  and  drained  it  at  a  single  draught. 
"  Yes,"  he  said  absently,  "  Ruth  Pinkney,"  and  fixed  his 
eyes  again  on  the  distant  rosy  crest. 

"  On  your  way  up  home  ?  "  suggested  the  bar-keeper, 
following  the  direction  of  Ruth's  eyes. 

"  Perhaps." 

"  Been  upon  a  pasear  —  hain't  yer  ?  Been  havin'  a  little 
tear  round  Sacramento  —  seein'  the  sights." 

Ruth  smiled  bitterly.      "  Yes." 

The  bar-keeper  lingered  —  ostentatiously  wiping  a  glass. 
But  Ruth  again  became  abstracted  in  the  mountain,  and  the 
bar-keeper  turned  away. 

How  pure  and  clear  that  summit  looked  to  him  !  how 
restful  and  steadfast  with  serenity  and  calm  !  how  unlike 
his  own  feverish,  dusty,  travel-worn  self  !  A  week  had 
elasped  since  he  had  last  looked  upon  it  —  a  week  of  dis- 
appointment, of  anxious  fears,  of  doubts,  of  wild  imagin- 
ings, of  utter  helplessness.  In  his  hopeless  quest  of  the 
missing  Mornie,  he  had,  in  fancy,  seen  this  serene  eminence 
haunting  his  remorseful  passion-stricken  soul.  And  now, 
without  a  clue  to  guide  him  to  her  unknown  hiding-place, 
he  was  back  again  to  face  the  brother  whom  he  had  de- 
ceived, with  only  the  confession  of  his  own  weakness. 
Hard  as  it  was  to  lose  forever  the  fierce  reproachful 
glances  of  the  woman  he  loved,  it  was  still  harder  to  a  man 
of  Ruth's  temperament  to  look  again  upon  the  face  of  the 
brother  he  feared.  A  hand  laid  upon  his  shoulder  startled 
him.  It  was  the  bar-keeper. 

"  If  it 's  a  fair  question,  Ruth  Pinkney,  I  'd  like  to  ask 
ye  how  long  ye  kalkilate  to  hang  around  the  Ferry  to-day  ?  " 

"  Why  ?  "  demanded  Ruth  haughtily. 


THE   CLOUDS   PASS  175 

whatever  you've  been  and  done,  I  want  ye  to 
have  a  square  show.  Ole  Nixon  has  been  cavortin'  round 
yer  the  last  two  days,  swearin'  to  kill  you  on  sight  for 
runnin'  off  with  his  darter.  Sabe  ?  Now  let  me  ax  ye  two 
questions.  First  —  are  you  heeled,?  " 

Ruth  responded  to  this  dialectical  inquiry  affirmatively, 
by  putting  his  hand  on  his  revolver. 

"  Good  !  Now,  second  —  have  you  got  the  gal  along 
here  with  you  ?  " 

"  No,"  responded  Ruth,  in  a  hollow  voice. 

"  That 's  better  yet,"  said  the  man,  without  heeding  the 
tone  of  the  reply.  "  A  woman  —  and  especially  the  woman, 
in  a  row  of  this  kind  —  handicaps  a  man  awful."  He 
paused  and  took  up  the  empty  glass.  "  Look  yer,  Ruth 
Pinkney,  I  'm  a  square  man,  and  I  '11  be  square  with  you. 
So  I  '11  just  tell  you  you  've  got  the  demdest  odds  agin'  ye. 
Pr'aps  ye  know  it,  and  don't  keer.  Well,  the  boys  around 
yer  are  all  sidin'  with  the  old  man  Nixon.  It 's  the  first 
time  the  old  rip  ever  had  a  hand  in  his  favor  ;  so  the  boys 
will  see  fair  play  for  Nixon  and  agin'  you.  But  I  reckon 
you  don't  mind  him  ?  " 

"  So  little,  I  shall  never  pull  trigger  on  him  !  "  said  Ruth 
gravely. 

The  bar-keeper  stared,  and  rubbed  his  chin  thoughtfully. 
"  Well,  thar  's  that  Kanaka  Joe,  who  used  to  be  sorter 
sweet  on  Mornie  —  he 's  an  ugly  devil  —  he  's  helpin'  the 
old  man  !  " 

The  sad  look  faded  from  Ruth's  eyes  suddenly.  A  cer- 
tain wild  Berserker  rage  —  a  taint  of  the  blood,  inherited 
from  heaven  knows  what  Old- World  ancestry,  which  had 
made  the  twin  brothers'  Southwestern  eccentricities  re- 
spected in  the  settlement  —  glowed  in  its  place.  The  bar- 
keeper noted  it,  and  augured  a  lively  future  for  the  day's 
festivities.  But  it  faded  again ;  and  Ruth,  as  he  rose, 
turned  hesitatingly  towards  him. 


176  THE   TWINS   OF   TABLE   MOUNTAIN 

"  Have  you  seen  my  brother  Rand  lately  ?  " 

"Nary." 

"  He  has  n't  been  here,  or  about  the  Ferry  ?  " 

"Nary  time." 

"  You  have  n't  heard,"  said  Ruth,  with  a  faint  attempt  an 
a  smile,  "  if  he  's  been  around  here  asking  after  me  —  sorter 
looking  me  up,  you  know  ?  " 

"  Not  much,"  returned  the  bar-keeper  deliberate] v. 
"  Ez  far  ez  I  know  Rand  —  that  ar  brother  o'  your's  —  he 's 
one  of  yer  high-toned  chaps  ez  does  n't  drink,  thinks  bar- 
rooms is  pizen,  and  ain't  the  sort  to  come  round  yer  and 
sling  yarns  with  me." 

.  Ruth  rose  ;  but  the  hand  that  he  placed  upon  the  table, 
albeit  a  powerful  one,  trembled  so  that  it  was  with  difficulty 
he  resumed  his  knapsack.  When  he  did  so,  his  bent  figure, 
stooping  shoulders,  and  haggard  face  made  him  appear 
another  man  from  the  one  who  had  sat.  down.  There  was 
a  slight  touch  of  apologetic  deference  and  humility  in  his 
manner  as  he  paid  his  reckoning,  and  slowly  and  hesitat- 
ingly began  to  descend  the  steps. 

The  bar-keeper  looked  after  him  thoughtfully.  "  Well, 
dog  my  skin  !  "  he  ejaculated  to  himself,  "  ef  I  had  n't  seen 
that  man  —  that  same  Ruth  Pinkney  —  straddle  a  friend's 
body  in  this  yer  very  room,  and  dare  a  whole  crowd  to 
come  on,  I  'd  swar  that  he  had  n't  any  grit  in  him  !  Thar'  s 
something  up  !  "  ,<•  $  -^ 

But  here  Ruth  reached  the  last  step,  and  turned  again. 

"  If  you  see  old  man  Nixon,  say  I  'm  in  town ;  if  you 

see  that "  (I  regret  to  say  that  I  cannot 

repeat  his  exact  and  brief  characterization  of  the  present 
condition  and  natal  antecedents  of  Kanaka  Joe),  "say  I'm 
looking  out  for  him,"  and  was  gone. 

He  wandered  down  the  road  towards  the  one  long  strag- 
gling street  of  the  settlement.  The  few  people  who  met 
him  at  that  early  hour  greeted  him  with  a  kind  of  con- 


THE   CLOUDS    PASS  177 

etrained  civility ;  certain  cautious  souls  hurried  by  without 
seeing  him;  all  turned  and  looked  after  him,  and  a  few 
followed  him  at  a  respectful  distance.  A  somewhat  noto- 
rious practical  joker,  and  recognized  wag  at  the  Ferry, 
apparently  awaited  his  coming  with  something  of  invitation 
and  expectation,  but  catching  sight  of  Ruth's  haggard  face 
and  blazing  eyes,  became  instantly  practical  and  by  no 
means  jocular  in  his  greeting.  At  the  top  of  the  hill,  Ruth 
turned  to  look  once  more  upon  the  distant  mountain,  now 
again  a  mere  cloud-line  on  the  horizon.  In  the  firm  belief 
that  he  would  never  again  see  the  sun  rise  upon  it,  he 
turned  aside  into  a  hazel  thicket,  and  tearing  out  a  few 
leaves  from  his  pocket-book,  wrote  two  letters  —  one  to 
Rand  and  one  to  Mornie  ;  but  which,  as  they  were  neVer 
delivered,  shall  not  burden  this  brief  chronicle  of  that 
eventful  day.  For  while  transcribing  them,  he  was  startled 
by  the  sounds  of  a  dozen  pistol-shots,  in  the  direction  of 
the  hotel  he  had  recently  quitted.  Something  in  the  mere 
sound  provoked  the  old  hereditary  fighting  instinct,  and 
sent  him  to  his  feet  with  a  bound,  and  a  slight  distension 
of  the  nostrils  and  sniffing  of  the  air  not  unknown  to 
certain  men  who  become  half  intoxicated  by  the  smell  of 
powder.  He  quickly  folded  his  letters  and  addressed  them 
carefully,  and  taking  off  his  knapsack  and  blanket,  methodi- 
cally arranged  them  under  a  tree,  with  the  letters  on  top. 
Then  he  examined  the  lock  of  his  revolver,  and  then,  with 
the  step  of  a  man  ten  years  younger,  leaped  into  the  road. 
He  had  scarcely  done  so  when  he  was  seized,  and  by  sheer 
force  dragged  into  a  blacksmith's  shop  at  the  roadside.  He 
turned  his  savage  face  and  drawn  weapon  upon  his  assail- 
ant, but  was  surprised  to  meet  the  anxious  eyes  of  the 
bar-keeper  of  the  Mansion  House. 

"  Don't  be  a  d — d  fool !'  said  the  man  quickly.  "  Thar 's 
fifty  agin'  you  down  thar.  But  why,  in  h — 11,  did  n't  you 
wipe  out  old  Nixon  when  you  had  such  a  good  chance  ?  " 


178  THE   TWINS   OF  TABLE   MOUNTAIN 

"  Wipe  out  old  Nixon  ?  "  repeated  Ruth. 

"  Yes,  just  now,  when  you  had  him  covered  ! " 

"  What ! " 

The  bar-keeper  turned  quickly  upon  Ruth,  stared  at  him, 
and  then  suddenly  burst  into  a  fit  of  laughter.  "  Well ! 
I  've  knowed  you  two  were  twins,  but  damn  me  if  I  ever 
thought  I  'd  be  sold  like  this."  And  he  again  burst  into  a 
roar  of  laughter. 

"  What  do  you  mean  ?  "  demanded  Ruth  savagely. 

"  What  do  I  mean  ?  "  returned  the  bar-keeper,  "  why,  I 
mean  this.  I  mean  that  your  brother,  Rand,  as  you  call 
him,  he 'z  bin  —  for  a  young  feller,  and  a  pious  feller  — 
doin'  about  the  tallest  kind  o'  fightin,  to-day  that 's  been 
done  at  the  Ferry.  He  's  laid  out  that  ar  Kanaka  Joe  and 
two  of  his  chums  !  He  was  pitched  into  on  your  quarrel, 
and  he  took  it  up  for  you  like  a  little  man  !  I  managed  to 
drag  him  off,  up  yer,  in  the  hazel  bush  for  safety,  and  out 
you  pops,  and  I  thought  you  was  him  !  He  can't  be  far 
away.  Hallo  !  There  they  're  comin' ;  and  thar  's  the 
doctor  trying  to  keep  them  back  !  " 

A  crowd  of  angry  excited  faces  filled  the  road  suddenly, 
but  before  them  Dr.  Duchesne,  mounted,  and  with  a  pisto] 
in  his  hand,  opposed  their  further  progress. 

"  Back,  in  the  bush ! "  whispered  the  bar-keeper. 
"  Now  's  your  time  !  " 

But  Ruth  stirred  not.  "  Go  you  back,"  he  said,  in  a 
low  voice  ;  "  find  Rand,  and  take  him  away.  I  will  fill  his 
place  here."  He  drew  his  revolver,  and  stepped  into  the 
road.  A  shout,  a  report,  and  the  spatter  of  red  dust  from  a 
bullet  near  his  feet,  told  him  he  was  recognized.  He  stirred 
not ;  but  another  shout,  and  a  cry,  "  There  they  are  —  both 
of  'em  !  "  made  him  turn. 

His  brother  Rand,  with  a  smile  on  his  lip  and  fire  in  his 
eye,  stood  by  his  side !  Neither  spoke.  Then  Rand, 
quietly  as  of  old,  slipped  his  hand  into  his  brother's  strong 


THE   CLOUDS   PASS  179 

palm.  Two  or  three  bullets  sang  by  them,  a  splinter  flew 
from  the  blacksmith's  shed,  but  the  brothers,  hard  gripping 
each  other's  hands,  and  looking  into  each  other's  faces,  with 
a  quiet  joy,  stood  there,  calm  and  imperturbable. 

There  was  a  momentary  pause.  The  voice  of  Dr.  Du- 
chesne  rose  above  the  crowd. 

"Keep  back,  I  say  !  Keep  back  !  Or  hear  me  ! — for 
five  years  I  've  worked  among  you,  and  mended  and  patched 
the  holes  you  've  drilled  through  each  other's  carcasses  — 
Keep  back,  I  say  !  —  Or  the  next  man  that  pulls  trigger,  or 
steps  forward,  will  get  a  hole  from  me  that  no  surgeon  can 
stop  !  I  'm  sick  of  your  bungling  ball  practice  !  Keep 
back  !  —  or,  by  the  living  Jingo,  I  '11  show  you  where  a 
man's  vitals  are  !  " 

There  was  a  burst  of  laughter  from  the  crowd,  and  for  a 
moment  the  twins  were  forgotten  in  this  audacious  speech 
and  coolly  impertinent  presence. 

"  That 's  right !  Now  let  that  infernal  old  hypocritical 
drunkard,  Mat  Nixon,  step  to  the  front." 

The  crowd  parted  right  and  left,  and  half  pushed,  half 
dragged  Nixon  before  him. 

"  Gentlemen,"  said  the  doctor,  "  this  is  the  man  who  has 
just  shot  at  Band  Pinkney  for  hiding  his  daughter.  Now, 
I  tell  you,  gentlemen,  and  I  tell  him,  that  for  the  last  week 
his  daughter,  Mornie  Nixon,  has  been  under  my  care  as  a 
patient,  and  my  protection  as  a  friend.  If  there 's  anybody 
to  be  shot,  the  job  must  begin  with  me  !  " 

There  was  another  laugh,  and  a  cry  of  "  Bully  for  old 
Sawbones  !  "  Euth  started  convulsively,  and  Rand  answered 
his  look  with  a  confirming  pressure  of  his  hand. 

"  That  isn  't  all,  gentlemen,  this  drunken  brute  has  just 
shot  at  a  gentleman,  whose  only  offense,  to  my  knowledge, 
is  that  he  has,  for  the  last  week,  treated  her  with  a  brother's 
kindness,  has  taken  her  into  his  own  home,  and  cared  for 
her  wants  as  if  she  were  his  own  sister." 


180  THE   TWINS   OF   TABLE   MOUNTAIN 

Ruth's  hand  again  grasped  his  brother's.  Band  colored, 
and  hung  his  head. 

"  There  's  more  yet,  gentlemen.  I  tell  you  that  that  girl, 
Mornie  Nixon,  has,  to  my  knowledge,  been  treated  like  a 
lady,  has  been  cared  for  as  she  never  was  cared  for  in  her 
father's  house,  and  while  that  father  has  been  proclaiming 
her  shame  in  every  bar-room  at  the  Ferry,  has  had  the 
sympathy  and  care,  night  and  day,  of  two  of  the  most 
accomplished  ladies  of  the  Ferry  —  Mrs.  Sol  Saunders, 
gentlemen,  and  Miss  Euphemia  !  " 

There  was  a  shout  of  approbation  from  the  crowd.  Nixon 
would  have  slipped  away,  but  the  doctor  stopped  him. 

"Not  yet!  I've  one  thing  more  to  say.  I've  to 
tell  you,  gentlemen,  on  my  professional  word  of  honor,  that 
besides  being  an  old  hypocrite,  this  same  old  Mat  Nixon  is 
the  ungrateful,  unnatural  grandfather  of  the  first  boy  born 
in  the  district !  " 

A  wild  huzza  greeted  the  doctor's  climax.  By  a  common 
consent  the  crowd  turned  toward  the  Twins,  who,  grasping 
each  other's  hands  stood  apart.  The  doctor  nodded  his 
head.  The  next  moment  the  Twins  were  surrounded  and 
lifted  in  the  arms  of  the  laughing  throng,  and  borne  in 
triumph  to  the  bar-room  of  the  Mansion  House. 

"  Gentlemen,"  said  the  bar-keeper,  "  call  for  what  you 
like  :  the  Mansion  House  treats  to-day  in  honor  of  its  be- 
ing the  first  time  that  Hand  Pinkhey  has  been  admitted  to 
the  Bar." 

It  was  agreed  that,  as  her  condition  was  still  precarious, 
the  news  should  be  broken  to  her  gradually  and  indirectly. 

The  indefatigable  Sol  had  a  professional  idea,  which  was 
not  displeasing  to  the  Twins.  It  being  a  lovely  summer 
afternoon,  the  couch  of  Mornie  was  lifted  out  on  the  ledge, 
and  she  lay  there  basking  in  the  sunlight,  drinking  in  the 
pure  air,  and  looking  gravely  ahead  in  the  daylight  as  she 


THE   CLOUDS   PASS  181 

had  in  the  darkness  —  for  her  couch  commanded  a  view 
of  the  mountain  flank.  And  lying  there  she  dreamed  a 
pleasant  dream,  and  in  her  dream  saw  Rand  returning  up 
the  mountain  trail.  She  was  half  conscious  that  he  had 
good  news  for  her,  and  when  he  at  last  reached  her  bed- 
side, he  began  gently  and  kindly  to  tell  his  news.  But 
she  heard  him  not,  or  rather  in  her  dream  was  most 
occupied  with  his  ways  and  manners,  which  seemed  unlike 
him,  yet  inexpressibly  sweet  and  tender.  The  tears  were 
fast  coming  in  her  eyes,  when  he  suddenly  dropped  on  his 
knees  beside  her,  threw  away  Rand's  disguising  hat  and 
coat,  and  clasped  her  in  his  arms.  And  by  that  she  knew 
it  was  Ruth  ! 

But  what  they  said ;  what  hurried  words  of  mutual 
explanation  and  forgiveness  passed  between  them ;  what 
bitter  yet  tender  recollections  of  hidden  fears  and  doubts, 
now  forever  chased  away  in  the  rain  of  tears  and  joyous 
sunshine  of  that  mountain  top,  were  then  whispered  ;  what- 
ever of  this  little  chronicle,  that  to  the  reader  seems  strange 
and  inconsistent,  —  as  all  human  records  must  ever  be 
strange  and  imperfect  except  to  the  actors  —  was  then  made 
clear,  was  never  divulged  by  them,  and  must  remain  with 
them  forever.  The  rest  of  the  party  had  withdrawn  and 
they  were  alone.  But  when  Mornie  turned  and  placed  the 
baby  in  its  father's  arms,  they  were  so  isolated  in  their 
happiness,  that  the  lower  world  beneath  them  might  have 
swung  and  drifted  away,  and  left  that  mountain  top  the 
beginning  and  creation  of  a  better  planet. 

"  You  know  all  about  it  now,"  said  Sol,  the  next  day 
explaining  the  previous  episodes  of  this  history  of  Ruth,. 
"  you  *ve  got  the  whole  plot  before  you.  It  dragged  ? 
little  in  the  second  act,  for  the  actors  were  n't  up  in  their 
parts.  But,  for  an  amateur  performance,  on  the  whole,  it 
was  n't  bad." 


182  THE   TWINS   OF   TABLE   MOUNTAIN 

"  I  don't  know,  I  'm  sure,"  said  Eand  impulsively 
"  how  we  'd  have  got  on  without  Euphemia.  It 's  too  bad, 
she  could  n't  be  here  to-day." 

"  She  wanted  to  come,"  said  Sol,  "  but  the  gentleman 
she  's  engaged  to  came  up  from  Marysville  last  night." 

"  Gentleman  —  engaged  ! "  repeated  Rand,  white  and  red 
by  turns. 

"  Well,  yes  !  I  say  '  gentleman,'  although  he  's  in  the 
Variety  profession.  She  always  said,"  said  Sol  quietly, 
looking  at  Rand,  "  that  she  'd  never  marry  out  of  it." 


JEFF  BRIGGS'S   LOVE   STOEY 
I 

IT  was  raining  and  blowing  at  Eldridge's  Crossing.  From 
the  stately  pine-trees  on  the  hill-tops,  which  were  dignifiedly 
protesting  through  their  rigid  spines  upward,  to  the  hyster- 
ical willows  in  the  hollow,  that  had  whipped  themselves 
into  a  maudlin  fury,  there  was  a  general  tumult.  When  the 
wind  lulled,  the  rain  kept  up  the  distraction,  firing  long 
volleys  across  the  road,  letting  loose  miniature  cataracts 
from  the  hill-sides  to  brawl  in  the  ditches,  and  beating  down 
the  heavy  heads  of  wild  oats  on  the  levels ;  when  the 
rain  ceased  for  a  moment  the  wind  charged  over  the  already 
defeated  field,  ruffled  the  gulleys,  scattered  the  spray  from 
the  roadside  pines,  and  added  insult  to  injury.  But  both 
Avind  and  rain  concentrated  their  energies  in  a  malevolent 
attempt  to  utterly  disperse  and  scatter  the  "  Half-way 
House,"  which  seemed  to  have  wholly  lost  its  way,  and 
strayed  into  the  open,  where,  dazed  and  bewildered,  unpre- 
pared and  unprotected,  it  was  exposed  to  the  taunting  fury 
of  the  blast.  A  loose,  shambling,  disjointed,  hastily  built 
structure  —  representing  the  worst  features  of  Pioneer  renais- 
sance —  it  rattled  its  loose  window-sashes  like  chattering 
teeth,  banged  its  ill-hung  shutters,  and  admitted  so  much 
of  the  invading  storm,  that  it  might  have  blown  up  or  blown 
down  with  equal  facility. 

Jefferson  Briggs,  proprietor  and  landlord  of  the  "  Half- 
way House,"  had  just  gone  through  the  formality  of  closing 
his  house  for  the  night,  hanging  dangerously  out  of  the 
window  in  the  vain  attempt  to  subdue  a  rebellious  shutter 


184  JEFF   BRIGGS'S   LOVE    STORY 

that  had  evidently  entered  into  conspiracy  with  the  invaders, 
and  shutting  a  door  as  against  a  sheriff's  posse,  was  going  to 
bed  —  i.  e.,  to  read  himself  asleep,  as  was  his  custom.  As  he 
entered  his  little  bedroom  in  the  attic  with  a  highly  exciting 
novel  in  his  pocket  and  a  kerosene  lamp  in  his  hand,  the 
wind,  lying  in  wait  for  him,  instantly  extinguished  his  lamp 
and  slammed  the  door  behind  him.  Jefferson  Briggs  re- 
lighted the  lamp,  as  if  confidentially,  in  a  corner,  and  shield- 
ing it  in  the  bosom  of  his  red  flannel  shirt,  which  gave  him 
the  appearance  of  an  illuminated  shrine,  hung  a  heavy  bear- 
skin across  the  window,  and  then  carefully  deposited  his 
lamp  upon  a  chair  at  his  bedside.  This  done,  he  kicked 
off  his  boots,  flung  them  into  a  corner,  and  rolling  himself 
in  a  blanket,  lay  down  upon  the  bed.  A  habit  of  early 
rising,  bringing  with  it,  presumably,  the  proverbial  accom- 
paniment of  health,  wisdom,  and  pecuniary  emoluments, 
had  also  brought  with  it  certain  ideas  of  the  effeminacy  of 
separate  toilettes  and  the  virtue  of  readiness. 

In  a  few  moments  he  was  deep  in  a  chapter. 

A  vague  pecking  at  his  door  —  as  of  an  unseasonable 
woodpecker,  finally  asserted  itself  to  his  consciousness. 
"  Come  in,"  he  said,  with  his  eye  still  on  the  page. 

The  door  opened  to  a  gaunt  figure,  partly  composed  of 
bed-quilt  and  partly  of  plaid  shawl.  A  predominance  of 
the  latter  and  a  long  wisp  of  iron-gray  hair  determined  her 
sex.  She  leaned  against  the  post  with  an  air  of  fatigue, 
half  moral  and  half  physical. 

"How  ye  kin  lie  thar,  abed,  Jeff,  and  read  and  smoke  on 
sich  a  night !  The  sperrit  o'  the  Lord  abroad  over  the 
yearth  —  and  up  stage  not  gone  by  yet.  Well,  well !  it 's 
well  thar  ez  some  ez  can't  sleep." 

"  The  up  coach,  like  as  not,  is  stopped  by  high  water  on 
the  North  Fork,  ten  miles  away,  aunty,"  responded  Jeff, 
keeping  to  the  facts.  Possibly  not  recognizing  the  hand  of 
a  .beneficent  Creator  in  the  rebellious  window  shutter,  he 
avoided  theology. 


JEFF   BRIGGS'S   LOVE   STORY  185 

"  Well,"  responded  the  figure,  with  an  air  of  delivering 
an  unheeded  and  thankless  warning,  "  it  is  not  for  me  to 
say.  P'raps  it 's  all  His  wisdom  that  some  will  keep  to 
their  own  mind.  It's  well  ez  some  hez  n't  narves,  and  kin 
luxuriate  in  terbacker  in  the  night  watches.  But  He  says, 
'  I  '11  come  like  a  thief  in  the  night ! '  —  like  a  thief  in  the 
night,  Jeff." 

Totally  unable  to  reconcile  this  illustration  with  the  de- 
layed "  Pioneer  "  coach  and  Yuba  Bill,  its  driver,  Jeff  lay 
silent.  In  his  own  way,  perhaps,  he  was  uneasy  —  not  to 
say  shocked  —  at  his  aunt's  habitual  freedom  of  scriptural 
quotation,  as  that  good  lady  herself  was  with  an  occasional 
oath  from  his  lips ;  a  fact,  by  the  way,  not  generally  under- 
stood by  purveyors  of  Scripture,  licensed  and  unlicensed. 

"  I  'd  take  a  pull  at  them  bitters,  aunty,"  said  Jeff  feebly, 
with  his  wandering  eye  still  recurring  to  his  page.  "  They  '11 
do  ye  a  power  of  good  in  the  way  o'  calmin'  yer  narves." 

"  Ef  I  was  like  some  folks  I  would  n't  want  bitters  — 
though  made  outer  the  simplest  yarbs  of  the  yearth,  with  jest 
enough  sperrit  to  bring  out  the  vartoos  —  ez  Deacon  Stoer's 
Balm  'er  Gilead  is  —  what  yer  meaning  ?  Ef  I  was  like 
some  folks  I  could  lie  thar  and  smoke  in  the  lap  o'  idleness 
—  with  fourteen  beds  in  the  house  empty,  and  nary  lodger 
for  one  of  'em.  Ef  I  was  that  indifferent  to  bavin'  invested 
my  fortin  in  the  good  will  o'  this  house,  and  not  ez  much 
ez  a  single  transient  lookin'  in,  I  could  lie  down  and  take 
comfort  in  profane  literatoor.  But  it  ain't  in  me  to  do  it. 
And  it  was  n't  your  father's  way,  Jeff,  neither !  " 

As  the  elder  Briggs's  way  had  been  to  seek  surcease  from 
euch  trouble  at  the  gambling  table,  and  eventually,  in 
suicide,  Jeff  could  not  deny  it.  But  he  did  not  say  that  a 
full  realization  of  his  unhappy  venture  overcame  him  as  he 
closed  the  blinds  of  the  hotel  that  night ;  and  that  the  half 
desperate  idea  of  abandoning  it  then  and  there  to  the  war- 
ring elements  that  had  resented  his  trespass  on  Nature 


186  JEFF  BRIGGS'S   LOVE   STORY 

seemed  to  him  an  act  of  simple  reason  and  justice.  He 
did  not  say  this,  for  easy-going  natures  are  not  apt  to 
explain  the  processes  by  which  their  content  or  resignation 
is  reached,  and  are  therefore  supposed  to  have  none. 
Keeping  to  the  facts,  he  simply  suggested  the  weather  was 
unfavorable  to  travelers,  and  again  found  his  place  on  the 
page  before  him.  Fixing  it  with  his  thumb,  he  looked  up 
resignedly.  The  figure  wearily  detached  itself  from  the 
door-post,  and  Jeffs  eyes  fell  on  his  book.  "  You  won't 
stop,  aunty  ?  "  he  asked  mechanically,  as  if  reading  aloud 
from  the  page  ;  but  she  was  gone. 

A  little  ashamed,  although  much  relieved,  Jeff  fell  back 
again  to  literature,  interrupted  only  by  the  charging  of  the 
wind  and  the  heavy  volleys  of  rain.  Presently  he  found 
himself  wondering  if  a  certain  banging  were  really  a  shutter, 
and  then,  having  settled  in  his  mind  that  it  was,  he  was 
startled  by  a  shout.  Another,  and  in  the  road  before  the 
house  ! 

Jeff  put  down  his  book,  and  marked  the  place  by  turning 
down  the  leaf,  being  one  of  that  large  class  of  readers  whose 
mental  faculties  are  butter-fingered,  and  easily  slip  their 
hold.  Then  he  resumed  his  boots  and  was  duly  capari- 
soned. He  extinguished  the  kerosene  lamp,  and  braved 
the  outer  air,  and  strong  currents  of  the  hall  and  stairway  in 
the  darkness.  Lighting  two  candles  in  the  bar-room,  he 
proceeded  to  unlock  the  hall  door.  At  the  same  instant  a 
furious  blast  shook  the  house,  the  door  yielded  slightly  and 
impelled  a  thin,  meek-looking  stranger  violently  against  Jeff 
who  still  struggled  with  it. 

"  An  accident  has  occurred,"  began  the  stranger,  "  and  " 
—  but  here  the  wind  charged  again,  blew  open  the  door, 
pinned  Jeff  behind  it  back  against  the  wall,  overturned  the 
dripping  stranger,  dashed  up  the  staircase,  and  slammed 
every  door  in  the  house,  ending  triumphantly  with  No.  14 
and  a  crash  of  glass  in  the  window. 


JEFF   BRIGGS'S   LOVE   STORY  187 

"  Come,  rouse  up !  "  said  Jeff,  still  struggling  with  the 
door,  "  rouse  up  and  lend  a  hand  yer  !  " 

Thus  abjured,  the  stranger  crept  along  the  wall  towards 
Jeff  and  began  again,  "  We  have  met  with  an  accident." 
But  here  another  and  mightier  gust  left  him  speechless, 
covered  him  with  spray  of  a  wildly  disorganized  water-spout 
that,  dangling  from  the  roof,  seemed  to  be  playing  on  the 
front  door,  drove  him  into  black  obscurity  and  again  sand- 
wiched his  host  between  the  door  and  the  wall.  Then 
there  was  a  lull,  and  in  the  midst  of  it,  Yuba  Bill,  driver  of 
the  "Pioneer"  coach,  quietly  and  coolly,  impervious  in 
waterproof,  walked  into  the  hall,  entered  the  bar-room, 
took  a  candle,  and  going  behind  the  bar,  selected  a  bottle, 
critically  examined  it,  and  returning,  poured  out  a  quantity 
of  whiskey  in  ?,  glass  and  gulped  it  in  a  single  draught.  All 
this  while  Jeff  was  closing  the  door,  and  the  meek-looking 
man  was  coming  into  the  light  again. 

Yuba  Bill  squared  his  elbows  behind  him  and  rested 
them  on  the  bar,  crossed  his  legs  easily  and  awaited  them. 
In  reply  to  Jeff's  inquiring  but  respectful  look,  he  said 
shortly  — 

"  Oh,  you  're  thar,  are  ye  ?  " 

"Yes,  Bill." 

"  Well,  this  yer  new-fangled  road  o'  yours  is  ten  feet  deep 
in  the  hollow  with  back  water  from  the  North  Fork  !  I  've 
taken  that  yar  coach  inter  fower  feet  of  it,  and  then  I  reck- 
oned I  could  n't  hev  any  more.  '  I  '11  stand  on  this  yer 
hand,'  sez  I ;  I  brought  the  horses  up  yer  and  landed  'em 
in  your  barn  to  eat  their  blessed  heads  off  till  the  water 
goes  down.  That 's  wot 's  the  matter  old  man,  and  jist 
about  wot  I  kalkilated  on  from  those  durned  old  improve- 
ments o'  yours." 

Coloring  a  little  at  this  new  count  in  the  general  indict- 
ment against  the  uselessness  of  the  "  Half-way  House,"  Jeff 
asked  if  there  were  "  any  passengers  ?  " 


188  JEFF   BRIGGS'S   LOVE   STORY 

Yuba  Bill  indicated  the  meek  stranger  with  a  jerk  of  his 
thumb.  "  And  his  wife  and  darter  in  the  coach.  They  're 
all  right  and  tight,  ez  if  they  was  in  the  Fifth  Avenue 
Hotel.  But  I  reckon  he  allows  to  fetch  'em  up  yer," 
added  Bill,  as  if  he  strongly  doubted  the  wisdom  of  the 
transfer. 

The  meek  man,  much  meeker  for  the  presence  of  Bill, 
here  suggested  that  such  indeed  was  his  wish,  and  further 
prayed  that  Jeff  would  accompany  him  to  the  coach  to 
assist  in  bringing  them  up.  "  It 's  rather  wet  and  dark," 
said  the  man  apologetically  ;  "  my  daughter  is  not  strong. 
Have  you  such  a  thing  as  a  waterproof  ?  " 

Jeff  had  not ;  but  would  a  bear-skin  do  ? 

It  would. 

Jeff  ran,  tore  down  his  extempore  window  curtain,  and 
returned  with  it.  Yuba  Bill,  who  had  quietly  and  disap- 
provingly surveyed  the  proceeding,  here  disengaged  him- 
self from  the  bar  with  evident  reluctance. 

"  You  '11  want  another  man,"  he  said  to  Jeff,  "  onless  ye 
can  carry  double.  Ez  he,"  indicating  the  stranger,  "  ez  no 
sort  o'  use,  he  'd  better  stay  here  and  '  tend  bar/  while  you 
and  me  fetch  the  wimmen  off.  'Specially  ez  I  reckon 
we  've  got  to  do  some  tall  wadin'  by  this  time  to  reach 
'em." 

The  meek  man  sat  down  helplessly  in  a  chair  indicated 
by  Bill,  who  at  once  strode  after  Jeff.  In  another  moment 
they  were  both  fighting  their  way,  step  by  step,  against  the 
storm,  in  that  peculiar,  drunken,  spasmodic  way  so  amusing 
to  the  spectator  and  so  exasperating  to  the  performer.  It 
was  no  time  for  conversation,  even  interjectional  profanity 
was  dangerously  exhaustive. 

The  coach  was  scarcely  a  thousand  yards  away,  but  its 
bright  lights  were  reflected  in  a  sheet  of  dark  silent  water 
that  stretched  between  it  and  the  two  men/  Wading  and 
splashing  they  soon  reached  it,  and  a  gulley  where  the 


JEFF   BRIGGS'S    LOVE   STORY  189 

surplus  water  was  pouring  into  the  valley  below.  "  Fower 
feet  o'  water  round  her,  but  can't  get  any  higher.  So  ye 
see  she  's  all  right  for  a  month  o'  sich  weather."  Inwardly 
admiring  the  perspicacity  of  his  companion,  Jeff  was  about 
to  open  the  coach  door  when  Bill  interrupted. 

"  I  '11  pack  the  old  woman,  if  you  '11  look  arter  the  darter 
and  enny  little  traps." 

A  female  face,  anxious  and  elderly,  here  appeared  at  the 
window. 

"  Thet  's  my  little  game,"  said  Bill,  sotto  voce. 

"  Is  there  any  danger  ?  where  is  my  husband  ?  "  asked 
the  woman  impatiently. 

"  Ez  to  the  danger,  ma'am,  —  thar  ain't  any.  Yer  ez  safe 
here  ez  ye  'd  be  in  a  Sacramento  steamer ;  ez  to  your  hus- 
band, he  allowed  I  was  to  come  yer  and  fetch  yer  up  to  the 
hotel.  That's  his  look-out !  "  With  this  cheering  speech, 
Bill  proceeded  to  make  two  or  three  ineffectual  scoops  into 
the  dark  interior,  manifestly  with  the  idea  of  scooping  out 
the  lady  in  question.  In  another  instant  he  had  caught 
her,  lifted  her  gently  but  firmly  in  his  arms,  and  was  turn- 
ing away. 

"  But  my  child  !  —  my  daughter  !  she  's  asleep  !  "  —  ex- 
postulated the  woman  ;  but  Bill  was  already  swiftly  splash- 
ing through  the  darkness.  Jeff,  left  to  himself,  hastily 
examined  the  coach  :  on  the  back  seat  a  slight  small  figure, 
enveloped  in  a  shawl,  lay  motionless.  Jeff  threw  the  bear- 
skin over  it  gently,  lifted  it  on  one  arm,  and  gathering  a  few 
travelling  bags  and  baskets  with  the  other,  prepared  to  fol- 
low his  quickly  disappearing  leader.  A  few  feet  from  the 
coach  the  water  appeared  to  deepen,  and  the  bear-skin  to 
draggle.  Jeff  drew  the  figure  up  higher,  in  vain. 

"  Sis,"  he  said  softly. 

No  reply. 

"  Sis,"  shaking  her  gently. 

There  was  a  slight  movement  within  the  wrappings. 


190  JEFF   BRIGGS'S   LOVE    STORY 

"Could  n't  ye  climb  up  on  my  shoulder,  honey  ?  that's 
a  good  child  !  " 

There  were  one  or  two  spasmodic  jerks  of  the  hear-skin, 
and,  aided  by  Jeff,  the  bundle  was  presently  seated  on  his 
shoulder.. 

"  Are  you  all  right  now,  Sis  ?  " 

Something  like  a  laugh  came  from  the  bear-skin.  Then 
a  childish  voice  said,  "  Thank  you,  I  think  I  am !  " 

"  Ain't  you  afraid  you  '11  fall  off  ?  " 

"  A  little." 

Jeff  hesitated.     It  was  begining  to  blow  again. 

"  You  could  n't  reach  down  and  put  your  arm  round  my 
neck,  could  ye,  honey  ?  " 

"  I  am  afraid  not !  "  —  although  there  was  a  slight 
attempt  to  do  so. 

"No  ?  " 

"  No  !  " 

"  Well,  then,  take  a  good  holt,  a  firm  strong  holt,  o'  my 
hair !  Don't  be  afraid  !  " 

A  small  hand  timidly  began  to  rummage  in  Jeff's  thick 
curls. 

"  Take  a  firm  holt ;  thar,  just  back  o'  my  neck  !  That 's 
right." 

The  little  hand  closed  over  half  a  dozen  curls.  The 
little  figure  shook,  and  giggled. 

"  Now  don't  you  see,  honey,  if  I  'm  keerless  with  you, 
and  don't  keep  you  plump  level  up  thar,  you  jist  give  me  a 
pull  and  fetch  me  up  all  standing  !  " 

"  I  see  !  " 

"  Of  course  you  do  !  That 's  because  you  're  a  little 
lady  !  " 

Jeff  strode  on.  It  was  pleasant  to  feel  the  soft  warm 
fingers  in  his  hair,  pleasant  to  hear  the  faint  childish  voice, 
pleasant  to  draw  the  feet  of  the  enwrapped  figure  against 
his  broad  breast.  Altogether  he  was  sorry  when  they 


JEFF   BRIGGS'S   LOVE   STORY  191 

reached  the  dry  land  and  the  lee  of  the  "  Half-way  House," 
where  a  slight  movement  of  the  figure  expressed  a  wish  to 
dismount. 

"Not  yet,  missy,"  said  Jeff;  "not  yet!  You'll  get 
blown  away,  sure !  And  then  what  '11  they  say  ?  No. 
honey !  I  '11  take  you  right  in  to  your  papa,  just  as  ye 
are ! " 

A  few  steps  more  and  Jeff  strode  into  the  hall,  made  his 
way  to  the  sitting-room,  walked  to  the  sofa,  and  deposited 
his  burden.  The  bear-skin  fell  back,  the  shawl  fell  back, 
and  Jeff  —  fell  back  too !  For  before  him  lay  a  small, 
slight,  but  beautiful  and  perfectly  formed  woman. 

He  had  time  to  see  that  the  meek  man,  no  longer  meek, 
but  apparently  a  stern  uncompromising  parent,  was  stand- 
ing at  the  head  of  the  sofa ;  that  the  elderly  and  nervous 
female  was  hovering  at  the  foot,  that  his  aunt,  with  every 
symptom  of  religious  and  moral  disapproval  of  his  conduct, 
sat  rigidly  in  one  of  the  rigid  chairs  —  he  had  time  to  see 
all  this  before  the  quick,  hot  blood,  flying  to  his  face,  sent 
the  water  into  his  eyes,  and  he  could  see  nothing ! 

The  cause  of  all  this  smiled  —  a  dazzling  smile  though  a 
faint  one  —  that  momentarily  lit  up  the  austere  gloom  of 
the  room  and  its  occupants.  "  You  must  thank  this  gentle- 
man, papa,"  said  she,  languidly  turning  to  her  father,  "  for 
his  kindness  and  his  trouble.  He  has  carried  me  here  as 
gently  and  as  carefully  as  if  I  were  a  child."  Seeing 
symptoms  of  a  return  of  Jeffs  distress  in  his  coloring  face, 
she  added  softly,  as  if  to  herself,  "  It 's  a  great  thing  to  be 
strong  —  a  greater  thing  to  be  strong  and  gentle." 

The  voice  thrilled  through  Jeff.  But  into  this  dangerous 
human  music  twanged  the  accents  of  special  spiritual  revela- 
tion, and  called  him  to  himself  again,  "Be  ye  wise  as 
sarpints,  but  harmless  as  duvs,"  said  Jeff's  aunt,  generally, 
"  and  let  'em  be  thankful  ez  does  n't  aboos  the  stren'th 
the  Lord  gives  'em,  but  be  allers  ready  to  answer  for  it  at 


192  JEFF   BRIGGS'S   LOVE   STORY 

the  bar  o'  their  Maker."  Possibly  some  suggestion  in  her 
figure  of  speech  reminded  her  of  JefPs  forgotten  duties,  so 
she  added  in  the  same  breath  and  tone,  "  especially  when 
transient  customers  is  waiting  for  their  licker,  and  Yuba  Bill 
hammerin'  on  the  counter  with  his  glass  ;  and  yer  ye  stand, 
Jeff,  never  even  takin'  up  that  wet  bar-skin  —  enuff  to  give 
that  young  woman  her  death." 

Stammering  out  an  incoherent  apology,  addressed  vaguely 
to  the  occupants  of  the  room,  but  looking  toward  the 
languid  goddess  on  the  sofa,  Jeff  seized  the  bear-skin  and 
backed  out  the  door.  Then  he  flew  to  his  room  with  it, 
and  then  returned  to  the  bar-room ;  but  the  impatient 
William  of  Yuba  had  characteristically  helped  himself  and 
gone  off  to  the  stable.  Then  Jeff  stole  into  the  hall  and 
halted  before  the  closed  door  of  the  sitting-room.  A  bold 
idea  of  going  in  again,  as  became  a  landlord  of  the  "  Half- 
way House,"  with  an  inquiry  if  they  wished  anything 
further,  had  seized  him,  but  the  remembrance  that  he  had 
always  meekly  allowed  that  duty  to  devolve  upon  his  aunt, 
and  that  she  would  probably  resent  it  with  scriptural  author- 
ity and  bring  him  to  shame  again,  stayed  his  timid  knuckles 
at  the  door.  In  this  hesitation  he  stumbled  upon  his  aunt 
coming  down  the  stairs  with  an  armful  of  blankets  and 
pillows,  attended  by  their  small  Indian  servant,  staggering 
under  a  mattress.  '  ;-. 

"  Is  everything  all  right,  aunty  ?  " 

"  Ye  kin  be  thankful  to  the  Lord,  Jeff  Briggs,  that  this 
did  n't  happen  last  week  when  I  was  down  on  my  back 
with  rheumatiz.  But  ye  're  never  grateful." 

"  The  young  lady  —  is  she  comfortable  ?  "  said  Jeff, 
accepting  his  aunt's  previous  remark  as  confirmatory. 

"  Ez  well  ez  enny  critter  marked  by  the  finger  of  the 
Lord  with  gallopin'  consumption  kin  be,  I  reckon.  And 
she,  ez  oughter  be  putting  off  airthly  vanities,  askin'  for  a 
lookin'-glass  !  And  you  !  trapesin'  through  the  hall  with  hor 


JEFF   BRIGGS'S   LOVE   STORY  193 

> 
on  yer  shoulder,  and  dancin'  and  jouncin'  her  up  and  down 

ez  if  it  was  a  ball-room  ! "  A  guiljty  recollection  that  he 
had  skipped  with  her  through  the  passage  struck  him  with 
remorse  as  his  aunt  went  on  :  "  It  's  a  mercy  that  betwixt 
you  and  the  wet  bar-skin  she  ain't  got  her  .deth  ! " 

"Don't  ye  think,  aunty,"  stammered  Jeff,  "that  —  that 
—  my  bein'  the  landlord,  yer  know,  it  would  be  the  square 
thing  —  just  out  o'  respect,  ye  know  — for  me  to  drop  in 
thar  and  ask  'em  if  thar  's  anythin'  they  wanted  ?  " 

His  aunt  stopped,  and  resignedly  put  down  the  pillows. 
"  Sarah,"  she  said  meekly  to  the  handmaiden,  "  ye  kin  leave 
go  that  mattress.  Yer  's  Mr.  Jefferson  thinks  we  ain't  good 
enough  to  make  the  beds  for  them  two  city  women  folks, 
and  he  allows  he  '11  do  it  himself  !  " 

"No,  no!  aunty!"  began  the  horrified  Jeff;  but  failing 
to  placate  his  injured  relative,  took  safety  in  flight. 

Once  safe  in  his  own  room  his  eye  fell  on  the  bear-skin. 
It  certainly  was  wet.  Perhaps  he  had  been  careless  — 
perhaps  he  had  imperiled  her  life  !  His  cheeks  flushed  as 
he  threw  it  hastily  in  the  corner.  Something  fell  from  it 
to  the  floor.  Jeff  picked  it  up  and  held  it  to  the  light. 
It  was  a  small,  a  very  small,  lady's  slipper.  Holding  it 
within  the  palm  of  his  hand  as  if  it  had  been  some  delicate 
flower  which  the  pressure  of  a  finger  might  crush,  he  strode 
to  the  door,  but  stopped.  Should  he  give  it  to  his  aunt  ? 
Even  if  she  overlooked  this  evident  proof  of  his  careless- 
ness, what  would  she  think  of  the  young  lady's  ?  Ought 
he  —  seductive  thought !  —  go  downstairs  again,  knock  at  the 
door,  and  give  it  to  its  fair  owner,  with  the  apology  he  was 
longing  to  make  ?  Then  he  remembered  that  he  had  but 
a  few  moments  before  been  dismissed  the  room  very  much 
as  if  he  were  the  original  proprietor  of  the  skin  he  had 
taken.  Perhaps  they  were  right ;  perhaps  he  was  only  a 
foolish  clumsy  animal !  Yet  she  had  thanked  him  —  she  had 
said  in  her  sweet  childlike  voice,  "It  is  a  great  thing  to  l»e 


J94  JEFF   BRIGGS'S   LOVE   STORY 

strong  ;  a  greater  thing  to  be  strong  and  gentle."  He  was 
strong  ;  strong  men  had  said  so.  He  did  not  know  if  he 
was  gentle  too.  Had  she  meant  that,  when  she  turned  her 
strangely  soft  dark  eyes  upon  him  ?  For  some  moments 
he  held  the  slipper  hesitatingly  in  his  hand,  then  he  opened 
his  trunk,  and  disposing  various  articles  around  it  as  if  it 
were  some  fragile,  perishable  object,  laid  it  carefully 
therein. 

This  done,  he  drew  off  his  boots,  and  rolling  himself 
in  his  blanket,  lay  down  upon  the  bed.  He  did  not  open 
his  novel  —  he  did  not  follow  up  the  exciting  love  episode 
of  his  favorite  hero  —  so  ungrateful  is  humanity  to  us  poor 
romancers,  in  the  first  stages  of  their  real  passion.  Ah, 
me  !  'tis  the  jongleurs  and  troubadours  they  want  then,  not 
us !  When  Master  Slender,  sick  for  sweet  Anne  Page, 
would  "  rather  than  forty  shillings  "  he  had  his  "  book  of 
songs  and  sonnets  "  there,  what  availed  it  that  the  Italian 
Boccaccio  had  contemporaneously  discoursed  wisely  and 
sweetly  of  love  in  prose  ?  I  doubt  not  that  Master  Jeff 
would  have  mumbled  some  verse  to  himself  had  he  known 
any :  knowing  none,  he  lay  there  and  listened  to  the  wind. 

Did  she  hear  it ;  did  it  keep  her  awake  ?  He  had  an 
uneasy  suspicion  that -the  shutter  that  was  banging  so  out- 
rageously was  the  shutter  of  her  room.  Filled  with  this 
miserable  thought,  he  arose  softly,  stole  down  the  staircase, 
and  listened.  The  sound  was  repeated.  It  was  truly  the 
refractory  shutter  of  No.  7  —  the  best  bedroom  adjoining 
the  sitting-room.  The  next  room,  No.  8,  was  vacant. 
Jeff  entered  it  softly,  as  softly  opened  the  window,  and 
leaning  far  out  in  the  tempest,  essayed  to  secure  the  noc- 
turnal disturber.  But  in  vain.  Cord  or  rope  he  had  none, 
nor  could  he  procure  either  without  alarming  his  aunt  — 
an  extremity  not  to  be  considered.  Jeff  was  a  man  of 
clumsy  but  forceful  expedients.  He  hung  far  out  of  the 
window,  and  with  one  powerful  hand,  lifted  the  shutter 


JEFF   BRIGGS'S   LOVE    STORY  195  ' 

off  its  hinges  and  dragged  it  softly  into  No.  8.  Then  as 
softly  he  crept  upstairs  to  bed.  The  wind  howled  and  tore 
round  the  house  ;  the  crazy  water-pipe  below  Jeff's  window 
creaked,  the  chimneys  whistled,  but  the  shutter  banged  no 
more.  Jeff  began  to  doze.  "  It 's  a  great  thing  to  be 
strong,"  the  wind  seemed  to  say  as  it  charged  upon  the 
defenseless  house,  and  then  another  voice  seemed  to  reply, 
"  A  greater  thing  to  be  strong  and  gentle;"  and  hearing 
this  he  fell  asleep. 

II 

•  It  was  not  yet  daylight  when  he  awoke  with  an  idea  that 
brought  him  hurriedly  to  his  feet.  Quickly  dressing  him- 
self, he  began  to  count  the  money  in  his  pocket.  Appar- 
ently the  total  was  not  satisfactory,  as  he  endeavored  to 
augment  it  by  loose  coins  fished  from  the  pockets  of  his 
other  garments,  and  from  the  corner  of  his  washstand 
drawer.  Then  he  cautiously  crept  downstairs,  seized  his 
gun,  and  stole  out  of  the  still  sleeping  house.  The  wind 
had  gone  doAvn,  the  rain  had  ceased,  a  few. stars  shone 
steadily  in  the  north,  and  the  shapeless  bulk  of  the  coach, 
its  lamps  extinguished,  loomed  high  and  dry  above  the 
lessening  water,  in  the  twilight.  With  a  swinging  tread 
Jeff  strode  up  the  hill  and  was  soon  upon  the  highway  and 
stage  road.  A  half-hour's  brisk  walk  brought  him  to  the 
summit,  and  the  first  rosy  flashes  of  morning  light.  This 
enabled  him  to  knock  over  half-a-dozen  early  quail,  lured 
by  the  proverb,  who  were  seeking  their  breakfast  in  the 
chapparal,  and  gave  him  courage  to  contimie  on  his  mis- 
sion, which  his  perplexed  face  and  irresolute  manner  had 
for  the  last  few  moments  shown  to  be  an  embarrassing  one. 
At  last  the  white  fences  and  imposing  outbuildings  of  the 
"  Summit  Hotel "  rose  before  him;  and  he  uttered  a  derp 
sigh.  There,  basking  in  the  first  rays  of  the  morning  sun, 


196  JEFF   BRIGGS'S   LOVE   STORY 

stood  his  successful  rival !  Jeff  looked  at  the  well-built5 
comfortable  structure,  the  commanding  site,  and  the  air  of 
serene  independence  that  seemed  to  possess  it,  and  no 
longer  wondered  that  the  great  world  passed  him  by  to 
linger  and  refresh  itself  there. 

He  was  relieved  to  find  the  landlord  was  not  present 
ia  person,  and  so  confided  his  business  to  the  bar-keeper. 
At  first  it  appeared  that  that  functionary  declined  inter- 
ference, and  with  many  head-shakings  and  audible  misgiv- 
ings was  inclined  to  await  the  coming  of  his  principal,  but 
a  nearer  view  of  Jeffs  perplexed  face,  and  an  examination 
of  Jeff's  gun,  and  the  few  coins  spread  before  him,  finally 
induced  him  to  produce  certain  articles,  which  he  packed 
in  a  basket  and  handed  to  Jeff,  taking  the  gun  and  coins 
in  exchange.  Thus  relieved,  Jeff  set  his  face  homewards, 
and  ran  a  race  with  the  morning  into  the  valley,  reaching 
the  "  Half-way  House  "  as  the  sun  laid  waste  its  bare, 
bleak  outlines,  and  relentlessly  pointed  out  its  defects  one 
by  one.  It  was  cruel  to  Jeff  at  that  moment,  but  he 
hugged  his  basket  close  and  slipped  to  the  back  door  and 
the  kitchen,. where  his  aunt  was  already  at  work. 

"I  didn't  know  ye  were  up  yet,  aunty,"  said  Jeff  sub- 
missively. "  It  is  n't  more  than  six  o'clock." 

"  Thar  's  four  more  to  feed  at  breakfast,"  said  his  aunt 
severely,  "  and  yer  's  the  top  blown  off  the  kitchen  chimbly, 
and  the  fire  only  just  got  to  go." 

Jeff  saw  that  he  was  in  time.  The  ordinary  breakfast 
of  the  "Half-way  House,"  not  yet  prepared,  consisted  of 
codfish,  ham,  yellow-ochre  biscuit,  made  after  a  peculiar 
receipt  of  his  aunt's,  and  potatoes. 

"  I  got  a  few  fancy  fixin's  up  at  the  Summit  this  morning., 
aunty,"  he  began  apologetically,  "  seein'  we  had  sick  folks, 
you  know — you  and  the  young  lady  —  and  thinkin'  it 
might  save  you  trouble.  I  've  got  'em  here,"  and  be  shyly 
produced  the  basket. 


JEFF   BRIGGS'S   LOVE   STORY  19V 

"  If  ye  kin  afford  it,  Jeff,"  responded  his  aunt  resignedly, 
«  I  'm  thankful." 

The  reply  was  so  unexpectedly  mild  for  Aunt  Sally,  that 
Jeff  put  his  arms  around  her  and  kissed  her  hard  cheek. 
"  And  I  've  got  some  quail,  aunty,  knowin'  you  liked  'em." 

"  I  reckoned  you  was  up  to  some  such  foolishness,"  said 
Aunt  Sally,  wiping  her  cheek  with  her  apron,  "  when  I 
missed  yer  gun  from  the  hall."  But  the  allusion  was  a 
dangerous  one,  and  Jeff  slipped  away. 

He  breakfasted  early  with  Yuba  Bill  that  morning  ;  the 
latter  gentleman's  taciturnity  being  intensified  at  such 
moments  through  a  long  habit  of  confining  himself  strictly 
to  eating  in  the  limited  time  allowed  his  daily  repasts,  and 
it  was  not  until  they  had  taken  the  horses  from  the  stable 
and  were  harnessing  them  to  the  coach  that  Jeff  extracted 
from  his  companion  some  facts  about  his  guests.  They 
were  Mr.  and  Mrs.  Mayfield,  Eastern  tourists,  who  had  been 
to  the  Sandwich  Islands  for  the  benefit  of  their  daughter's 
health,  and  before  returning  to  New  York,  intended,  under 
the  advice  of  their  physician,  to  further  try  the  effects  of 
mountain  air  at  the  "  Summit  Hotel,"  on  the  invalid.  They 
were  apparently  rich  people,  the  coach  had  been  engaged 
for  them  solely  —  even  the  mail  and  express  had  been  sent 
on  by  a  separate  conveyance,  so  that  they  might  be  more 
independent.  It  is  hardly  necessary  to  say  that  this  fact 
was  by  no  means  palatable  to  Bill  —  debarring  him  not 
only  the  social  contact  and  attentions  of  the  "  Express 
Agent,"  but  the  selection  of  a  box-seated  passenger  who 
always  "  acted  like  a  man." 

"  Ye  kin  kalkikte  what  kind  of  a  pardner  that  'ar  yaller- 
livered  Mayfield  would  make  up  on  that  box,  partik'ly  ez 
I  heard  before  we  started  that  he  'd  requested  the  kimpany's 
agent  in  Sacramento  to  select  a  driver  ez  did  n't  cuss,  smoke, 
or  drink.  He  did,  sir,  by  gum  !  " 

"  I  reckon  you  were  very  careful,  then,  Bill,"  said  Jeff. 


198  JEFF   BRIGGS'S   LOVE   STORY 

"  In  course,"  returned  Bill,  with  a  perfectly  diabolical 
wink.  "  In  course  !  You  know  that  '  Blue  Grass,'  "  point- 
ing out  a  spirited  leader  ;  "  she  's  a  fair  horse  ez  horses  go, 
but  she  's  apt  to  feel  her  oats  on  a  down  grade,  and  takes  a 
pow'ful  deal  o'  soothin'  and  explanation  afore  she  buckles 
down  to  her  reg'lar  work.  Well,  sir,  I  exhorted  and  labored 
in  a  Christian-like  way  with  that  mare  to  that  extent  that 
I  'm  cussed  if  that  chap  did  n't  want  to  get  down  afore  we 
got  to  the  level !  " 

"  And  the  ladies  7  "  asked  Jeff,  whose  laugh  —  possibly 
from  his  morning's  experience  —  was  not  as  ready  as 
formerly. 

"  The  ladies  !  Ef  you  mean  that  'ar  livin'  skellington  I 
packed  up  to  yer  house,"  said  Bill  promptly,  "  it 's  a  pair  of 
them  in  size  and  color,  and  ready  for  any  first-class  under- 
taker's team  in  the  kintry.  Why,  you  remember  that  curve 
on  Break  Neck  hill,  where  the  leaders  allus  look  as  if  they 
was  alongside  o'  the  coach  and  faced  the  other  way  ?  Well, 
that  woman  sticks  her  skull  outer  the  window,  and  sez  she, 
confidential-like  to  old  yaller-belly,  sez  she,  '  William 
Henry/  sez  she,  •'  tell  that  man  his  horses  are  running 
away ! '  " 

"  You  did  n't  get  to  see  the  —  the  —  daughter,  Bill, 
did  you  ?  "  asked  Jeff,  whose  laugh  had  become  quite  un- 
easy. 

"  No,  I  did  n't,"  said  Bill,  with  sudden  and  inexplicable 
vehemence,  "  and  the  less  you  see  of  her,  Jefferson  Briggs, 
the  better  for  you." 

Too  confounded  and  confused  by  Bill's  manner  to  ques- 
tion further,  Jeff  remained  silent  until  they  drew  up  at  the 
door  of  the  "  Half-way  House."  But  here  another  surprise 
awaited  him.  Mr.  Mayfield,  erect  and  dignified,  stood 
upon  the  front  porch  as  the  coach  drove  up. 

"  Driver  !  "  began  Mr.  Mayfield. 

There  was  no  reply. 


JEFF   BRIGGS'S   LOVE   STORY  199 

"  Driver,"  said  Mr.  Mayfield,  slightly  weakening  under 
Bill's  eye,  "  I  shall  want  you  no  longer.  I  have  "  — 

"  Is  he  speaking  to  me  ?  "  said  Bill  audibly  to  Jeff, 
"  'cause  they  call  me  '  Yuba  Bill '  yer  abouts." 

"  He  is,"  said  Jeff  hastily. 

"  Mebbee  he  's  drunk,"  said  Bill  audibly  ;  "  a  drop  or 
two  afore  breakfast  sometimes  upsets  his  kind." 

"  I  was  saying,  Bill,"  said  Mr.  Mayfield,  becoming 
utterly  limp  and  weak  again  under  Bill's  cold  gray  eyes, 
"  that  I  've  changed  my  mind,  and  shall  stop  here  awhile. 
My  daughter  seems  already  benefited  by  the  change.  You 
can  take  my  traps  from  the  boot  and  leave  them  here." 

Bill  laid  down  his  lines  resignedly,  coolly  surveyed  Mr. 
Mayfield,  the  house,  and  the  half-pleased,  half-frightened 
Jeff,  and  then  proceeded  to  remove  the  luggage  from  the 
boot,  all  the  while  whistling  loud  and  offensive  incredulity. 
Then  he  climbed  back  to  his  box.  Mr.  Mayfield,  com- 
pletely demoralized  under  this  treatment,  as  a  last  resort 
essayed  patronage. 

"  You  can  say  to  the  Sacramento  agents,  Bill,  that  I  am 
entirely  satisfied,  and  "  — 

"  Ye  need  n't  fear  but  I  '11  give  ye  a  good  character," 
interrupted  Bill  coolly,  gathering  up  his  lines.  The  whip 
snapped,  the  six  horses  dashed  forward  as  one,  the  coach 
plunged  down  the  road  and  was  gone. 

With  its  disappearance,  Mr.  Mayfield  stiffened  slightly 
again.  "  I  have  just  told  your  aunt,  Mr.  Briggs,"  he  said, 
turning  upon  Jeff,  "  that  my  daughter  has  expressed  a  desire 
to  remain  here  a  few  days  ;  she  has  slept  well,  seems  to  be 
invigorated  by  the  air,  and  although  we  expected  to  go  on 
to  the  '  Summit,'  Mrs.  Mayfield  and  myself  are  willing  to 
accede  to  her  wishes.  Your  house  seems  to  be  new  and 
clean.  Your  table  — judging  from  the  breakfast  this  morn- 
ing—  is  quite  satisfactory." 

Jeff,  in  the  first  flush  of  delight  at  this  news,  foiyof  "-vr?t 


200  JEFF   BRIGGS'S   LOVE   STORY 

that  breakfast  had  cost  him  —  forgot  all  his  morning's 
experience,  and,  I  fear,  when  he  did  remember  it,  was  too 
full  of  a  vague,  hopeful  courage  to  appreciate  it.  Conscious 
of  showing  too  much  pleasure,  he  affected  the  necessity  of 
an  immediate  interview  with  his  aunt,  in  the  kitchen.  But 
his  short  cut  round  the  house  was  arrested  by  a  voice  and 
figure.  It  was  Miss  Mayfield,  wrapped  in  a  shawl  and 
seated  in  a  chnir,  basking  in  the  sunlight  at  one  of  the 
bleakest  and  barest  angles  of  the  house.  Jeff  stopped  in 
a  delicious  tremor.  .,»', 

As  we  ure  dealing  with  facts,  however,  it  would  be  well 
to  look  at  the  cause  of  this  tremor  with  our  own  eyes  and 
not  Jeffs.  To  be  plain,  my  dear  madam,  as  she  basked 
in  that  remorseless,  matter-of-fact  California  sunshine,  she 
looked  her  full  age  —  twenty-five,  if  a  day!  There  were 
wrinkles  in  the  corners  -of  her  dark  eyes,  contracted  and 
frowning  in  that  strong,  merciless  light ;  there  was  a  nervous 
pallor  in  her  complexion  ;  but  being  one  of  those  "  fast- 
colored  "  brunettes,  whose  dyes  are  a  part  of  their  tempera- 
ment, no  sickness  nor  wear  could  bleach  it  out.  The  red  of 
her  small  mouth  was  darker  than  yours,  I  wot,  and  there 
were  certain  faint  lines  from  the  corners  of  her  delicate  nos- 
trils indicating  alternate  repression  and  excitement  under 
certain  experiences,  which  are  not  found  in  the  classic  ideals. 
Now  Jeff  knew  nothing  of  the  classic  ideal  —  did  not  know 
that  a  thousand  years  ago  certain  sensual  idiots  had,  with 
brush  and  chisel,  inflicted  upon  the  world  the  personifica- 
tion of  the  strongest  and  most  delicate,  most  controlling 
and  most  subtle  passion  that  humanity  is  capable  of,  in  the 
likeness  of  a  thick-waisted,  idealess,  expressionless,  per- 
fectly contented  female  animal ;  and  that  thousands  of 
idiots  had  since  then  insisted  upon  perpetuating  this  model 
for  the  benefit  of  a  world  that  had  gone  on  sighing  for, 
pining  for,  fighting  for,  and  occasionally  blowing  its  brains 
out  over  types  far  removed  from  that  idiotic  standard 


JEFF   BRIGGS'S   LOVE   STORY  201 

Consequently  Jeff  saw  only  a  face  full  of  possibilities 
and  probabilities,  framed  in  a  small  delicate  oval,  saw  a 
slight  woman's  form  —  more  than  usually  small  —  and  heard 
a  low  voice,  to  him  full  of  gentle  pride,  passion,  pathos, 
and  human  weakness,  and  was  helpless. 

"  I  only  said  '  Good-morning,'  "  said  Miss  Mayfield,  with 
that  slight,  arch  satisfaction  in  the  observation  of  masculine 
bashfulness,  which  the  best  of  her  sex  cannot  forego. 

"  Thank  you,  miss ;  good-morning.  I  've  been  wanting 
to  say  to  you  that  I  hope  you  was  n't  mad,  you  know," 
stammered  Jeff,  desperately  intent  upon  getting  off  his 
apology. 

"  It  is  so  lovely  this  morning  —  such  a  change  !  "  con- 
tinued Miss  Mayfield. 

"  Yes,  miss !  You  kno\v  I  reckoned  —  at  least  what  your 
father  said,  made  me  kalkilate  that  you  "  — 

Miss  Mayfield,  still  smiling,  knitted  her  brows  and  went 
on  :  "I  slept  so  well  last  night,"  she  said  gratefully,  "  and 
feel  so  much  better  this  morning,  that  I  ventured  out.  I 
seem  to  be  drinking  in  health  in  this  clear  sunlight." 

"  Certainly  miss.  As  I  was  sayin',  your  father  says  his 
daughter  is  in  the  coach ;  and  Bill  says,  says  he  to  me, 
1 1  '11  pack  —  I  '11  carry  the  old  —  I  '11  bring  up  Mrs.  May- 
field,  if  you  '11  bring  up  the  daughter ; '  and  when  we  come 
to  the  coach  I  saw  you  asleep-like  in  the  corner,  and  bein' 
amall,  why  miss,  you  know  how  nat'ral  it  is,  I  "  — 

"Oh,  Mr.  Jeff!  Mr.  Briggs!  "  said  Miss  Mayfield  plain- 
tively,. "  don't,  please  —  don't  spoil  the  best  compliment 
I  've  had  in  many  a  year.  You  thought  I  was  a  child,  I 
l.now,  and  —  well,  you  find,"  she  said  audaciously,  suddenly 
bringing  her  black  eyes  to  bear  on  him  like  a  rifle,  '*  you 
lind— well?" 

What  Jeff  thought  was  inaudible  but  not  invisible.  Miss 
Mayfield  saw  enough  of  it  in  his  eye  to  protest  with  a  faint 
w/lor  in  her  cheek.  Thus  does  Nature  betray  itself  to  Na- 


202  JEFF   BRIGGS'S   LOVE    STORY 

The  color  faded.  "  It 's  a  dreadful  thing  to  be  so  weak 
and  helpless,  and  to  put  everybody  to  such  trouble,  is  n't  it, 
Mr.  Jeff  ?  I  beg  your  pardon  —  your  aunt  calls  you  Jeff." 

"Please  call  me  Jeff,"  said  Jeff,  to  his  own  surprise 
rapidly  gaining  courage.  "  Everybody  calls  me  that." 

Miss  Mayfield  smiled.  "  I  suppose  I  must  do  what 
everybody  does.  So  it  seems  that  we  are  to  give  you  the 
trouble  of  keeping  us  here  until  I  get  better  or  worse  ?  " 

"  Yes,  miss." 

"  Therefore  I  won't  detain  you  now.  I  only  wanted  to 
thank  you  for  your  gentleness  last  night,  and  to  assure  you 
that  the  bear-skin  did  not  give  me  my  death." 

She  smiled  and  nodded  her  small  head,  and  wrapped  her 
shawl  again  closely  around  her  shoulders,  and  turned  her 
eyes  upon  the  mountains,  gestures  which  the  now  quick- 
minded  Jeff  interpreted  as  a  gentle  dismissal,  and  flew  to 
seek  his  aunt.  ;. 

Here  he  grew  practical.  Heady  money  was  needed  ; 
for  the  "  Half-way  House  "  was  such  a  public  monument  of 
ill-luck,  that  Jeff  had  no  credit.  He  must  keep  up  the 
table  to  the  level  of  that  fortunate  breakfast  —  to  do  which 
he  had  $1.50  in  the  till,  left  by  Bill,  and  $2.50  produced 
by  his  Aunt  Sally  from  her  work-basket. 

"  Why  not  ask  Mr.  Mayfield  to  advance  ye  suthin  ?  " 
said  Aunt  Sally. 

The  blood  flew  to  Jeff's  face.  "  Never !  Don't  say 
that  again,  aunty." 

The  tone  and  manner  were  so  unlike  Jeff  that  the  old 
lady  sat  down  half  frightened,  and  taking  the  corners  of 
her  apron  in  her  hands  began  to  whimper. 

"Thar  now,  aunty  !  I  didn't  mean  nothin',  —  only  if 
you  care  to  have  me  about  the  place  any  longer,  and  I 
reckon  it's  little  good  I  am  any  way,"  he  added,  Avith  a 
new-found  bitterness  in  his  tone,  "  ye  '11  jjot  ask  me  to  do 
that." 


JEFF   BRIGGS'S    LOVE    STORY  20S 

"  What 's  gone  o'  ye,  Jeff  ?  "  said  his  aunt  lugubriously  ; 
"ye  ain't  nat'ral  like." 

Jeff  laughed.  "  See  here,  aunty  ;  I  'm  goin'  to  take  your 
advice.  You  know  Rabbit  ?  " 

"  The  mare  ?  " 

"  Yes ;  I'm  going  to  sell  her.  The  blacksmith  offered 
me  a  hundred  dollars  for  her  last  week." 

"  Ef  ye  'd  done  that  a  month  ago,  Jeff,  ez  I  wanted  ye 
to,  instead  o'  keeping  the  brute  to  eat  ye  out  o'  house  and 
home,  ye  'd  be  better  off."  Aunt  Sally  never  let  slip  an 
opportunity  to  "  improve  the  occasion,"  but  preferred  to 
exhort  over  the  prostrate  body  of  the  "  improved."  "  Well, 
I  hope  he  may  n't  change  his  mind." 

Jeff  smiled  at  such  suggestion  regarding  the  best  horse 
within  fifty  miles  of  the  "  Half-way  House."  Neverthe- 
less he  went  briskly  to  the  stable,  led  out  and  saddled  a 
handsome  grey  mare,  petting  her  the  while,  and  keeping  up 
a  running  commentary  of  caressing  epithets  to  which  Rab- 
bit responded  with  a  whinny  and  playful  reaches  after  Jeff's 
red  flannel  sleeve.  Whereat  Jeff,  having  loved  the  horse 
until  it  was  displaced  by  another  mistress,  grew  grave  and 
suddenly  threw  his  arms  around  Rabbit's  neck,  and  then 
taking  Rabbit's  nose,  thrust  it  in  the  bosom  of  his  shirt 
and  held  it  there  silently  for  a  moment.  Rabbit  becoming 
uneasy,  Jeff's  mood  changed  too,  and  having  caparisoned 
himself  and  charger  in  true  vaquero  style,  not  without  a 
little  Mexican  dandyism  as  to  the  set  of  his  doeskin  trousers, 
and  the  tie  of  his  red  sash,  put  a  sombrero  rakishly  on  his 
curls  and  leaped  into  the  saddle. 

Jeff  was  a  fair  rider  in  a  country  where  riding  was  under- 
stood as  a  natural  instinct,  and  not  as  a  purely  artificial 
habit  of  horse  and  rider,  consequently  he  was  not  perched 
up,  jockey  fashion,  with  a  knee-grip  for  his  body,  and 
a  rein-rest  for  his  arms  on  the  beast's  mouth,  but  rode 
with  long,  loose  stirrups,  his  legs  clasping  the  barrel  of  his 


204  JEFF   BRIGGS'S   LOVE    STORY 

horse,  his  single  rein  lying  loose  upon  her  neck,  leaving 
her  head  free  as  the  wind.  After  this  fashion  he  had  often 
emerged  from  a  cloud  of  dust  on  the  red  mountain  road, 
striking  admiration  into  the  hearts  of  the  wayfarers  and 
coach-passengers,  and  leaving  a  trail  of  pleasant  incense 
in  the  dust  behind  him.  It  was  therefore  with  considerable 
confidence  in  himself,  and  a  little  human  vanity,  that  he 
dashed  round  the  house,  and  threw  his  mare  skilfully  on 
her  haunches  exactly  a  foot  before  Miss  Mayfield  —  himself 
a  resplendent  vision  oj:  flying  riata,  crimson  scarf,  fawn- 
colored  trousers,  and  jingling  silver  spurs. 

"  Kin  I  do  anythin'  for  ye,  miss,  at  the  Forks  ?  " 

Miss  Mayfield  looked  up  quietly.  "  I  think  not,"  she 
said  indifferently,  as  if  the  flaming-Jeff  was  a  very  common 
occurrence. 

Jeff  here  permitted  the  mare  to  bolt  fifty  yards,  caught 
her  up  sharply,  swung  her  round  on  her  off  hind  heel, 
permitted  her  to  paw  the  air  once  or  twice  with  her  white- 
stockinged  fore-feet,  and  then,  with  another  dash  forward, 
pulled  her  up  again  just  before  she  apparently  took  Miss 
Mayfield  and  her  chair  in  a  running  lea-p. 

"  Are  you  sure,  miss  ?  "  asked  Jeff,  with  a  flushed  face 
and  a  rather  lugubrious  voice. 

"Quite  so,  thank  you,"  she  said  coldly,  looking  past 
this  centaur  to  the  wooded  mountain  beyond. 

Jeff,  thoroughly  crushed,  was  pacing  meekly  away  when 
a  childlike  voice  stopped  him. 

"  If  you  are  going  near  a  carpenter's  shop  you  might  get 
a  new  shutter  for  my  window  ;  it  blew  away  last  night." 

"  It  did,  miss  ?  " 

"  Yes,"  said  the  shrill  voice  of  Aunt  Sally,  from  the 
doorway,  "  in  course  it  did  !  Ye  must  be  crazy,  Jeff,  for 
thar  it  stands  in  No.  8,  whar  ye  must  have  put  it  after  ye 
picked  it  up  outside." 

Jeff,  conscious  that  Miss  Mayfield's  eyes  were    on    his 


JEFF   BRIGGS'S   LOVE   STORY  205 

suffused  face,  stammered  "  that  he  would  attend  to  it,"  and 
put  spurs  to  the  mare,  eager  only  to  escape. 

It  was  not  his  only  discomfiture  ;  for  the  blacksmith, 
seeing  Jeff's  nervousness  and  anxiety,  was  suspicious  of 
something  wrong,  as  the  world  is  apt  to  be,  and  appeased 
his  conscience  after  the  worldly  fashion,  by  driving  a  hard 
bargain  with  the  doubtful  brother  in  affliction  —  the  morality 
of  a  horse  trade  residing  always  with  the  seller.  Whereby 
Master  Jeff  received  only  eighty  dollars  for  horse  and  outfit 
, —  worth  at  least  two  hundred  —  and  was  also  mulcted  of 
forty  dollars,  principal  and  interest  for  past  service  of  the 
blacksmith.  Jeff  walked  home  with  forty  dollars  in  his 
pocket  —  capital  to  prosecute  his  honest  calling  of  inn- 
keeper ;  the  blacksmith  retired  to  an  adjoining  tavern  to 
discuss  Jeffs  affairs,  and  further  reduce  his  credit.  Yet  I 
doubt  which  was  the  happier —  the  blacksmith  estimating 
his  possible  gains,  and  doubtful  of  some  uncertain  sequence 
in  his  luck,  or  Jeff,  temporarily  relieved,  boundlessly  hope- 
ful, and  filled  with  the  vague  delights  of  a  first  passion. 
The  only  discontented  brute  in  the  whole  transaction  was 
poor  Rabbit,  who,  missing  certain  attentions,  became  indig- 
nant, after  the  manner  of  her  sex,  bit  a  piece  out  of  her 
crib,  kicked  a  hole  in  her  box,  and  receiving  a  bad  char- 
acter from  the  blacksmith,  gave  a  worse  one  to  her  late 
master. 

Jeff's  purchases  were  of  a  temporary  and  ornamental  qual- 
ity, but  not  always  judicious  as  a  permanent  investment. 
Overhearing  some  remark  from  Miss  Mayfield  concerning 
the  dangerous  character  of  the  two-tined  steel  fork,  which 
was  part  of  the  table  equipage  of  the  "  Half-way  House," 
he  purchased  half  a  dozen  of  what  his  aunt  was  pleased  to 
specify  as  "  split  spoons,"  and  thereby  lost  his  late  good 
standing  with  her.  He  not  only  repaired  the  window-shut- 
ter, but  tempered  the  glaring  window  itself  with  a  bit  of 
curtain ;  he  half  carpeted  Miss  Mayfield's  bed-room  with 


206  JEFF    BRIGGS'S   LOVE   STORY 

wild-cat  skins  and  the  now  historical  bear-skin,  and  felt 
self  overpaid  when  that  young  lady,  passing  the  soft  tabby- 
skins  across  her  cheek,  declared  they  were  "  lovely."  For 
Miss  Mayfield,  deprecating  slaughter  in  the  abstract,  ac- 
cepted its  results  gratefully,  like  the  rest  of  her  sex,  and 
while  willing  to  "  let  the  hart  ungalled  play,"  nevertheless 
was  able  to  console  herself  with  its  venison.  The  woods, 
besides  yielding  aid  and  comfort  of  this  kind  to  the  dis- 
tressed damsel,  were  flamboyant  with  vivid  spring  blossoms, 
and  Jeff  lit  up  the  cold,  white  walls  of  her  virgin  cell  with 
demonstrative  color,  and  made  —  what  his  aunt,  a  cleanly 
soul,  whose  ideas  of  that  quality  were  based  upon  the  ab- 
sence of  any  color  whatever,  called  —  "  a  litter." 

The  result  of  which  was  to  make  Miss  Mayfield,  other- 
wise languid  and  ennuyee,  welcome  Jeff's  presence  with  a 
smile  ;  to  make  Jeff,  otherwise  anxious,  eager,  and  keenly 
attentive,  mute  and  silent  in  her  presence.  Two  symptoms 
bad  for  Jeff. 

Meantime  Mr.  Mayh'eld's  small  conventional  spirit  pined 
for  fellowship,  only  to  be  found  in  larger  civilizations,  and 
sought,  under  plea  of  business,  a  visit  to  Sacramento,  where 
a  few  of  the  Mayfield  type,  still  surviving,  were  to  be 
found. 

This  was  a  relief  to  Jeff,  who  only  through  his  regard 
for  the  daughter,  was  kept  from  open  quarrel  with  the 
father.  He  fancied  Miss  Mayfield  felt  relieved  too,  although 
Jeff  had  noticed  that  Mayfield  had  deferred  to  his  daughter 
more  often  than  his  wife  —  over  whom  your  conventional 
small  autocrat  is  always  victorious.  It  takes  the  legal 
matrimonial  contract  to  properly  develop  the  first-class 
tyrant,  male  or  female. 

On  one  of  these  days  Jeff  was  returning  through  the 
woods  from  marketing  at  the  Forks,  which,  since  the  sale 
of  Rabbit,  had  become  a  foot-sore  and  tedious  business. 
He  had  reached  the  edge  of  the  forest,  and  through  the 


JEFF   BRIGGS'S    LOVE    STORY  207 

wider-spaced  trees,  the  bleak  sunlit  plateau  of  his  house 
was  beginning  to  open  out,  when  he  stopped  instantly.  I 
know  not  what  Jeff  had  been  thinking  of,  as  he  trudged 
along,  but  here,  all  at  once,  he  was  thrilled  and  possessed 
with  the  odor  of  some  faint,  foreign  perfume.  He  flushed 
a  little  at  first,  and  then  turned  pale.  Now  the  woods 
were  as  full  of  as  delicate,  as  subtle,  as  grateful,  and,  I 
•wot,  far  healthier  and  purer  odors  than  this  ;  but  this  re- 
presented to  Jeff  the  physical  contiguity  of  Miss  May  field, 
who  had  the  knack  —  peculiar  to  some  of  her  sex  —  of  se- 
lecting a  perfume  that  ideally  identified  her.  Jeff  looked 
around  cautiously  ;  at  the  foot  of  a  tree  hard  by  lay  one 
of  her  wraps,  still  redolent  of  her.  Jeff  put  down  the  bag 
which,  in  lieu  of  a  market  basket,  he  was  carrying  on  his 
shoulder,  and  with  a  blushing  face  hid  it  behind  a  tree.  II 
contained  her  dinner ! 

He  took  a  few  steps  forwards  with  an  assumption  of  ease 
and  unconsciousness.  Then  he  stopped,  for  not  a  hundred 
yards  distant  sat  Miss  Mayfield  on  a  mossy  boulder,  her 
cloak  hanging  from  her  shoulders,  her  hands  clasped  round 
her  crossed  knees,  and  one  little  foot  out  —  an  exasperating 
combination  of  Evangeline  and  little  Red  Riding  Hood 
in  everything,  I  fear,  but  credulousness  and  self-devotion, 
She  looked  up  as  he  walked  towards  her  (non  constat  thai 
the  little  witch  had  not  already  seen  him  half  a  mile  away  !) 
and  smiled  sweetly  as  she  looked  at  him.  So  sweetly, 
indeed,  that  poor  Jeff  felt  like  the  hulking  wolf  of  the  old 
world  fable,  and  hesitated  —  as  that  wolf  did  not.  The 
California  faunae  have  possibly  depreciated. 

"  Come  here ! "  she  cried,  in  a  small  head  voice,  not 
unlike  a  bird's  twitter. 

Jeff  lumbered  on  clumsily.  His  high  boots  had  become 
suddenly  very  heavy. 

"  I'm  so  glad  to  see  you.  I've  just  tired  poor  mother 
out  —  I  'm  always  tiring  people  out  —  and  she  's  gone  back 


208  JEFF   BRIGGS'S   LOVE   ST011Y 

to  the  house  to  write  letters.  Sit  down,  Mr.  Jeff,  do, 
please!  " 

'Jeff,  feeling  uncomfortably  large  in  Miss  Mayfield's 
presence,  painfully  seated  himself  on  the  edge  of  a  very  low 
stone,  which  had  the  effect  of  bringing  his  knees  up  on  a 
level  with  his  chin,  and  affected  an  ease  glaringly  simu- 
lated. 

"  Or  lie  down,  there,  Mr.  Jeff —  it  is  so  comfortable." 

Jeff,  with  a  dreadful  conviction  that  he  was  crashing 
down  like  a  falling  pine-tree,  managed  at  last  to  acquire  a 
recumbent  position  at  a  respectful  distance  from  the  little 
figure. 

"  There,  is  n't  it  nice  ?  " 

"  Yes,  Miss  Mayfield." 

"  But,  perhaps,"  said  Miss  Mayfield,  now  that  she  had 
him  down,  "  perhaps  you  too  have  got  something  to  do. 
Dear  me !  I  'm  like  that  naughty  boy  in  the  story-book, 
who  went  round  to  all  the  animals,  in  turn,  asking  them  to 
play  with  him.  He  could  only  find  the  butterfly  who  had 
nothing  to  do.  I  don't  wonder  he  was  disgusted.  I  hate 
butterflies." 

Love  clarifies  the  intellect !  Jeff,  astonished  at  himself, 
burst  out,  "  Why,  look  yer,  Miss  Mayfield,  the  butterfly 
on'y  hez  a  day  or  two  to  —  to  —  to  live  and  —  be  happy  !  " 

Miss  Mayfield  crossed  her  knees  again,  and  instantly, 
after  the  sublime  fashion  of  her  sex,  scattered  his  intellect 
by  a  swift  transition  from  the  abstract  to  the  concrete. 
"  But  you  're  not  a  butterfly,  Mr.  Jeff.  You  're  always 
doing  something.  You  've  been  hunting." 

"  No-o  !  "  said  Jeff,  scarlet,  as  he  thought  of  his  gun  in 
pawn  at  the  "  Summit." 

"  But  you  do  hunt ;  I  know  it." 

"  How  ?  " 

"  You  shot  those  quail  for  me  the  morning  after  I  came 
I  heard  you  go  out  —  early  —  very  early." 


JEFF    BRIGGS'S   LOVE   STORY  209 

"  Why,  you  allowed  you  slept  so  well  that  night,  Miss 
Mayfield." 

"Yes;  but  there's  a  kind  of  delicious  half-sleep  that 
sick  people  have  sometimes,  when  they  know  and  are 
gratefully  conscious  that  other  people  are  doing  things  for 
them,  and  it  makes  them  rest  all  the  sweeter." 

There  was  a  dead  silence.  Jeff,  thrilling  all  over,  dared 
not  say  anything  to  dispel  his  delicious  dream.  Miss 
Mayfield,  alarmed  at  his  readiness  with  the  butterfly  illus- 
tration, stopped  short.  They  both  looked  at  the  prospect, 
at  the  distant  "  Summit  Hotel "  —  a  mere  snow-drift  on 
the  mountain  —  at  the  clear  sunlight  on  the  barren  plateau, 
at  the  bleak,  uncompromising  "  Half-way  House,"  and  — 
said  nothing. 

"  I  ought  to  be  very  grateful,"  at  last  began  Miss  May- 
field,  in  quite  another  voice,  and  a  suggestion  that  she  was 
now  approaching  real  and  profitable  conversation,  "  that 
I  'm  so  much  better.  This  mountain  air  has  been  like 
balm  to  me.  I  feel  I  am  growing  stronger  day  by  day. 
I  do  not  wonder  that  you  are  so  healthy  and  so  strong  as 
you  are,  Mr.  Jeff." 

Jeff,  who  really  did  not  know  before  that  he  was  so 
healthy,  apologetically  admitted  the  fact.  At  the  same 
time,  he  was  miserably  conscious  that  Miss  Mayfield's  con- 
dition, despite  her  ill  health,  was  very  superior  to  his  own. 

"A  month  ago,"  she  continued  reflectively,  "my  mother 
would  never  have  thought  it  possible  to  leave  me  here 
alone.  Perhaps  she  may  be  getting  worried  now." 

Miss  Mayfield  had  calculated  over  much  on  Jeff's  recum- 
bent position.  To  her  surprise  and  slight  mortification,  he 
rose  instantly  to  his  feet,  and  said  anxiously  — 

"  Ef  you  think  so,  miss,  p'raps  I  'm  keeping  you  here." 

"  Not  at  all,  Mr.  Jeff.  Your  being  here  is  a  sufficient 
excuse  for  my  staying,"  she  replied,  with  the  large  dignity 
of  a  small  body. 


210  JEFF    BRIGGS'S    LOVE    STORY 

Jeff,  mentally  and  physically  crushed  again,  came  down 
a  little  heavier  than  before,  and  reclined  humbly  at  her 
feet.  Second  knock-down  blow  for  Miss  Mayfield. 

"  Come,  Mr.  Jeff."  said  the  triumphant  goddess,  in  her 
first  voice,  "  tell  me  something  about  yourself.  How  do 
you  live  here  —  I  mean,  what  do  you  do  ?  You  ride,  of 
course  —  and  very  well  too,  I  can  tell  you  !  But  you  know 
that.  And  of  course  that  scarf  and  the  silver  spurs  and 
the  whole  v  dashing  equipage  are  not  intended  entirely  for 
yourself.  No  !  Some  young  woman  is  made,  happy  by 
that  exhibition,  of  course.  Well,  then,  there  's  the  riding 
down  to  see  her,  and  perhaps  the  riding  out  with  her,  and 
—  what  else?" 

"  Miss  Mayfield,"  said  Jeff,  suddenly  rising  above  his 
elbow  and  his  grammar,  "  thar  is  n't  no  young  woman  ! 
Thar  is  n't  another  soul  except  yourself  that  I  've  laid  eyes 
on,  or  cared  to  see  since  I  've  been  yer.  Ef  my  aunt  hez 
been  telling  ye  that  —  she  's  —  she  —  she  —  she  —  she  — 
lies." 

Absolute,  undiluted  truth,  even  of  a  complimentary 
nature,  is  confounding  to  most  women.  Miss  Mayfield 
was  no  exception  to  her  sex.  She  first  laughed,  as  she  felt 
she  ought  to,  and  properly  might  with  any  other  man  than 
Jeff;  then  she  got  frightened,  and  said  hurriedly,  "No, 
no  !  you  misunderstand  me.  Your  aunt  has  said  nothing." 
And  then  she  stopped  with  a  pink  spot  on  her  cheek-bones. 
First  blood  for  Jeff ! 

Now  this  would  never  do  ;  it  was  worse  than  the  butter- 
flies !  She  rose  to  her  full  height  —  four  feet  eleven  and  a 
half  —  and  drew  her  cloak  over  her  shoulders.  "  I  think  I 
will  return  to  the  house,"  she  said  quietly;  "I  suppose  I 
ought  not  to  overtask  my  strength." 

"  You  'd  better  let  me  go  with  you,  miss,"  said  Jeff 
submissively. 

"  I  will,  on  one    condition,"    she   said,   recovering  her 


JEFF   BRIGGS'S   LOVE   STORY  231 

archness,  with  a  little  venom  in  it,  I  fear.  "  You  were 
going  home,  too,  when  I  called  to  you.  Now,  I  do  not 
intend  to  let  you  leave  that  bag  behind  that  tree,  and  then 
have  to  come  back  for  it,  just  because  you  feel  obliged  to  go 
with  me.  Bring  it  with  you  on  one  arm,  and  I  '11  take  the 
other,  or  else — I'll  go  alone.  Don't  be  alarmed,"  she 
added  softly  ;  "  I  'm  stronger  than  I  was  the  first  night 
I  came,  when  you  carried  me  and  all  my  worldly  goods 
besides." 

She  turned  upon  him  her  subtle  magnetic  eyes,  and 
looked  at  him  as  she  had  the  first  night  they  met.  Jeff 
turned  away  bewildered,  but  presently  appeared  again  with 
the  bag  on  his  shoulder,  and  her  wrap  on  his  arm.  As  she 
slipped  her  little  hand  over  his  sleeve,  he  began,  apologeti- 
cally and  nervously  — 

"  When  I  said  that  about  Aunt  Sally,  miss,  I "  — 

The  hand  immediately  became  limp,  the  grasp  conven- 
tional. 

"  I  was  mad,  miss,"  Jeff  blundered  on,  "  and  I  don't  see 
how  you  believed  it  —  knowing  everything  ez  you  do." 

"  How  knowing  everything  as  I  do  ?  "  asked  Miss  May- 
field  coldly. 

"  Why,  about  the  quail,  and  about  the  bag  !  " 

"  Oh,"  said  Miss  Mayfield. 

Five  minutes  later,  Yuba  Bill  nearly  ditched  his  coach 
in  his  utter  amazement  at  an  apparently  simple  spectacle  — 
a  tall,  good-looking  young  fellow,  in  a  red  shirt  and  high 
boots,  carrying  a  bag  on  his  back,  and  beside  him,  hanging 
confidentially  on  his  arm,  a  small,  slight,  pretty  girl  in  a 
red  cloak.  "  Nothing  mean  about  her,  eh,  Bill  ?  "  said  an 
admiring  box-passenger.  "Young  couple,  I  reckon,  just 
out  from  -the  States." 

"  No  !  "  roared  Bill. 

"  Oh,  well,  his  sweetheart,  I  reckon  ? "  suggested  the 
box-passenger. 


212  JEFF   BKIGGS'S   LOVE    STORY 

"  Nary  time  !  "  growled  Bill.  "  Look  yer  !  I  know  'em 
both,  and  they  knows  me.  Did  ye  notiss  she  never  drops 
his  arm  when  she  sees  the  stage  comin',  but  kinder  trapes 
along  jist  the  same  ?  Had  they  been  courtin',  she  'd  liev 
dropped  his  arm  like  pizen,  and  walked  on  t'  other  side  the 
road." 

Nevertheless,  for  some  occult  reason,  Bill  was  evidently 
out  of  humor  ;  and  for  the  next  few  miles  exhorted  the 
impenitent  Blue  Grass  horse  with  considerable  fervor. 

Meanwhile  this  pair,  outwardly  the  picture  of  pastoral 
conjugality,  slowly  descended  the  hill.  In  that  brief  time, 
failing  to. get  at  any  further  facts  regarding  JefFs  life,  or 
perhaps  reading  the  story  quite  plainly,  Miss  Mayfield  had 
twittered  prettily  about  herself.  She  painted  her  tropic  life 
in  the  Sandwich  Islands  —  her  delicious  "laziness,"  as  she 
called  it;  "for,  you  know,"  she  added,  "although  I  had 
the  excuse  of  being  an  invalid,  and  of  living  in  the  laziest 
climate  in  the  world,  and  of  having  money,  I  think,  Mr. 
Jeff,  that  I'm  naturally  lazy.  Perhaps  if  I  lived  here 
long  enough,  and  got  well  again,  I  might  do  something, 
but  I  don't  think  I  could  ever  be  like  your  aunt.  And 
there  she'is  now,  Mr.  Jeff',  making  signs  for  you  to  hasten. 
No,  don't  mind  me,  but  run  on  ahead;  else  I  shall  have 
her  blaming  me  for  demoralizing  you  too.  Go  ;  I  insist 
upon  it !  I  can  walk  the  rest  of  the  way  alone.  Will  you 
go  ?  You  won't  ?  Then  I  shall  stop  here  and  not  stir 
another  step  forward  until  you  do." 

She  stopped,  half  jestingly,  half  earnestly,  in  the  middle 
of  the  road,  and  emphasized  her  determination  with  a  nod 
of  her  head  —  an  action  that,  however,  shook  her  hat  first 
rakishly  over  one  eye,  and  then  on  the  ground.  At  which 
Jeff  laughed,  picked  it  up,  presented  it  to  her,  and  then 
ran  off  to  the  house. 


JEFF   BRIGGS'S   LOVE   STORY  213 


ni 

His  aunt  met  him  angrily  on  the  porch.  "  Thar  ye  are 
at  last,  and  yer  's  a  stranger  waitin'  to  see  you.  He  's  been 
axin  all  sorts  o'  questions  about  the  house  and  the  business, 
and  kinder  snoopin'  round  permiskiss.  I  don't  like  hi& 
looks,  Jeff,  but  thet  's  no  reason  why  ye  should  be  galli- 
vantin'  round  in  business  hour,s." 

A  large,  thick-set  man,  with  a  mechanical  smile  that  was 
an  overt  act  of  false  pretense,  was  lounging  in  the  bar-room. 
Jeff  dimly  remembered  to  have  seen  him  at  the  last  county 
election,  distributing  tickets  at  the  polls.  This  gave  Jeff  a 
slight  prejudice  against  him,  but  a  greater  presentiment  of 
some  vague  evil  in  the  air  caused  him  to  motion  the  stranger 
to  an  empty  room  in  the  angle  of  the  house  behind  the  bar- 
room, which  was  too  near  the  hall  through  which  Miss 
Mayfield  must  presently  pass. 

It  was  an  infelicitous  act  of  precaution,  for  at  that  very 
moment  Miss  Mayfield  slowly  passed  beneath  its  open 
window,  and  seeing  her  chair  in  the  sunny  angle,  dropped 
into  it  for  rest  and  possibly  meditation.  Consequently  she 
overheard  every  word  of  the  following  colloquy. 

The  Stranger's  voice  :  "  Well,  now,  seein'  ez  I  've  been 
waitin'  for  ye  over  an  hour,  off  and  on,  and  ez  my  bizness 
with  ye  is  two  words,  it  strikes  me  yer  puttin'  on  a  little  too 
much  style  in  this  yer  interview,  Mr.  Jefferson  Briggs." 

Jeffs  voice  (a  little  husky  with  restraint)  :  "  What  is  yei 
business  ?  " 

The  stranger's  voice  (lazily)  :  "  It 's  an  at-tachment  on 
this  yer  property  for  principal,  interest,  and  costs  —  one 
hundred  and  twelve  dollars  and  seventy-five  cents,  at  the 
suit  of  Cyrus  Parker." 

Jeffs  voice  (in  quick  surprise)  :  "  Parker  ?  Why,  I  saw 
him  only  yesterday,  and  he  agreed  to  wait  a  spell  longer." 


214  JEFF   BRIGGS'S   LOVE    STORY 

The  Stranger's  voice  :  "  Mebbee  he  did  !  Mebbee  he 
heard  afterwards  suthin'  about  the  goin's  on  up  ,  yar. 
Mebbee  he  heard  suthin'  o'  property  bein'  converted  into 
ready  cash  —  sich  property  ez  horses,  guns,  and  sich ! 
Mebbee  he  heard  o'  gay  and  festive  doin's  —  chickin  every 
day,  fresh  eggs,  butcher's  meat,  port  wine,  and  sich  ! 
Mebbee  he  allowed  that  his  chances  o'  gettin'  his  own 
honest  grub  outer  his  debt  was  lookin'  mighty  slim  !  Meb- 
bee "  (louder)  "  he  thought  he  'd  ask  the  man  who  bought 
yer  horse,  and  the  man  you  pawned  your  gun  to,  what  was 
goin'  on  !  Mebbee  he  thought  he  'd  like  to  get  a  holt  a 
suthin'  himself,  even  if  it  was  only  some  of  that  yar  chickin 
and  port  wine  !  " 

Jeff's  voice  (earnestly  and  hastily)  :  "  They  're  not  for  me. 
I  have  a  family  boarding  here,  with  a  sick  daughter.  You 
don't  think  "  - 

The  Stranger's  voice  (lazily)  :  "  I  reckon  !  I  seed  you 
and  her  pre-ambulating  down  the  hill,  lockin'  arms.  A 
good  deal  o'  style,  Jeff — fancy!  expensive!  How  does 
Aunt  Sally  take  it  ?  " 

A  slight  shaking  oi  the  floor  and  window  —  a  dead 
silence. 

The  Stranger's  voice  (very  faintly)  :  "  For  God's  sake,  let 
me  up  ! " 

Jeff's  voice  (very  distinctly)  :  "  Another  word  !  raise  your 
voice  above  a  whisper,  and  by  the  living  G — " 

Silence. 

The  Stranger's  voice  (gasping)  :  "  I — I  —  promise  !  " 

Jeff's  voice  (low  and  desperate)  :  "  Get  up  out  of  that ! 
Sit  down  thar  !  Now  hear  me  !  I  'm  not  resisting  your  pro- 
cess. If  you  had  all  h — 11  as  witnesses  you  dare  n't  say 
that.  I  've  shut  up  your  foul  jaw,  and  kept  it  from  poison- 
ing the  air,  and  thar  's  no  law  in  Californy  agin  it !  Now 
listen.  What !  You  will,  will  you  ?  " 

Everything  quiet  ;  a  bird  twittering  on  the  window  ledge 
nothing  more. 


JEFF   BRIGGS'S   LOVE    STORY  215 

The  Stranger's  voice  (very  huskily)  :  "  I  cave  !  Gimme 
some  whiskey." 

Jeff's  voice  :  "  When  we  're  through.  Now  listen  !  You 
can  take  possession  of  the  house ;  you  can  stand  behind 
the  bar  and  take  every  cent  that  comes  in ;  you  can  pre- 
vent anything  going  out ;  l^ut  as  long  as  Mr.  Mayfield  and 
his  family  stay  here,  by  the  living  God  —  law  or  no  law  — 
I  '11  be  boss  here,  and  they  shall  never  know  it !  " 

The  Stranger's  voice  (weakly  and  submissively)  :  "  That 
sounds  square.  Anythin'  not  agin  the  law  and  in  reason, 
Jeff!" 

Jeff's  voice :  "  I  mean  to  be  square.  Here  is  all  the 
money  I  have,  ten  dollars.  Take  it  for  any  extra  trouble 
you  may  have  to  satisfy  me." 

A  pause  —  the  clinking  of  coin. 

The  Stranger's  voice  (deprecatingly)  :  "  Well  !  I  reckon 
that  would  be  about  fair.  Consider  the  trouble  "  (a  weak 
laugh  here)  "  just  now.  'T  ain't  every  man  ez  hez  your 
grip.  He  !  he  !  Ef  ye  had  n't  took  me  so  suddent  like  — 
he  !  he  !  —  well !  —  how  about  that  ar  whiskey  ?  " 

Jeff's  voice  (coolly)  :   "  I  '11  bring  it." 

Steps,  silence,  coughing,  spitting,  and  throat-clearing 
from  the  stranger. 

Steps  again,  and  the  click  of  glass. 

The  Stranger's  voice  (submissively)  :  "  In  course  I  must 
go  back  to  the  Forks  and  fetch  up  my  duds.  Ye  know 
what  I  mean  !  Thar  now  —  don't,  Mr.  Jeff !  " 

Jeff's  voice  (sternly)  :  "  If  I  find  you  go  back  on 
me"  — 

The  Stranger's  voice  (hurriedly)  :  "  Thar 's  my  hand  on 
it.  Ye  can  count  on  Jim  Dodd." 

Steps  again.  Silence.  A  bird  lights  on  the  window 
ledge,  and  peers  into  the  room.  All  is  at  rest. 

Jeff  and  the  deputy-sheriff  walked  through  the  bar-room 


216  JEFF   BRIGGS'S   LOVE   STORY 

and  out  on  the  porch.  Miss  Mayfield  in  an  arm-chair 
looked  up  from  her  book. 

"  I  've  written  a  letter  to  my  father  that  I  'd  like  to  have 
mailed  at  the  Forks  this  afternoon,"  she  said,  looking  from 
Jeff  to  the  stranger  ;  "  perhaps  this  gentleman  will  oblige 
me  by  taking  it,  if  he  's  going  t^at  way." 

"  I  '11  take  it,  miss,"  said  Jeff  hurriedly. 

"  No,"  said  Miss  Mayfield  archly,  "  I  've  tiken  up  toe 
much  of  your  time  already." 

"  I  'm  at  your  service,  miss,"  said  the  stranger,  consider- 
ably affected  by  the  spectacle  of  this  pretty  girl,  who 
certainly  at  that  moment,  in  her  bright  eyes  and  slightly 
pink  cheeks,  belied  the  suggestion  of  ill  health. 

"  Thank  you.  Dear  me  !  "  She  was  rummaging  in  a 
reticule  and  in  her  pockets.  "  Oh,  Mr.  Jeff !  " 

"  Yes,  miss  ?  " 

"  I  'm  so  frightened  !  " 

"  How,  miss  ?  " 

"  I  have  —  yes  !  —  I  have  left  that  letter  on  the  stump 
in  the  woods,  where  I  was  sitting  when  you  came.  Would 

you  "  — 

Jeff  darted  into  the  house,  seized  his  hat,  and  stopped. 
He  was  thinking  of  the  stranger. 

"  Could  you  be  so  kind  ?  " 

Jeff  looked  in  her  agitated  face,  cast  a  meaning  glance 
at  the  stranger,  and  was  off  like  a  shot. 

The  fire  dropped  out  of  Miss  Mayfield's  eyes  and  cheeks. 
She  turned  toward  the  stranger. 

"  Please  step  this  way." 

She  always  hated  her  own  childish  treble.  But  just  at 
that  moment  she  thought  she  had  put  force  and  dignity 
into  it,  and  was  correspondingly  satisfied.  The  deputy- 
sheriff  was  equally  pleased,  and  came  towards  the  upright 
little  figure  with  open  admiration. 

"  Your  name  is  Dodd  —  James  Dodd  ?  " 


JEFF   BRIGGS'S   LOVE   STORY  217 

"Yes,  miss." 

"  You  are  the  deputy-sheriff  of  the  county  ?  Don't  look 
round  —  there  is  no  one  here  !  " 

"  Well,  miss  —  if  you  say  so  —  yes  !  " 

"  My  father  —  Mr.  Mayfield  —  understood  so.  I  regret 
he  is  not  here.  I  regret  still  more  I  could  not  have  seen 
you  before  you  saw  Mr.  Briggs,  as  he  wished  me  to." 

"  Yes,  miss." 

"  My  father  is  a  friend  of  Mr.  Briggs,  and  knows  some- 
thing of  his  affairs.  There  was  a  debt  to  a  Mr.  Parker" 
(here  Miss  Mayfield  apparently  consulted  an  entry  in  her 
tablets)  "  of  one  hundred  and  twelve  dollars  and  seventy- 
five  cents  —  am  I  right  ?  " 

The  deputy,  with  great  respect,  "  That  is  the  figgers." 

"  Which  he  wished  to  pay  without  the  knowledge  of  Mr. 
Briggs,  who  would  not  have  consented  to  it." 

The  official  opened  his  eyes.      "  Yes,  miss." 

"  Well,  as  Mr.  Mayfield  is  not  here,  I  am  here  to  pay  it 
for  him.  You  can  take  a  check  on  Wells,  Fargo  &  Co., 
I  suppose  ?  " 

"  Certainly,  miss." 

She  took  a  check-book  and  pen  and  ink  from  her  reti- 
cule, and  filled  up  a  check.  She  handed  it  to  him,  and 
the  pen  and  ink.  "  You  are  to  give  me  a  receipt." 

The  deputy  looked  at  the  matter-of-fact  little  figure,  and 
signed  and  handed  over  the  receipted  bill. 

"  My  father  said  Mr.  Briggs  was  not  to  know  this." 

"Certainly  not,  miss." 

"  It  was  Mr.  Briggs's  intention  to  let  the  judgment  take 
its  course,  and  give  up  the  house.  You  are  a  man  of  busi- 
ness, Mr.  Dodd,  and  know  that  this  is  ridiculous  ! " 

The  deputy  laughed.      "  In  course,  miss." 

"  And  whatever  Mr.  Briggs  may  have  proposed  to  you 
to  do,  when  you  go  back  to  the  Forks,  you  are  to  write 
him  a  letter,  and  say  that  you  will  simply  hold  the  judg- 
ment without  levy." 


218  JEFF  BRIGGS'S  LOVE   STOKY 

"  All  right,  miss,"  said  the  deputy,  not  ill-pleased  t« 
hold  himself  in  this  superior  attitude  to  Jeff. 

"And"- 

"  Yes,  miss  ?  "  • ,,:, 

She  looked  steadily  at  him.  "  Mr.  Briggs  told  my  father 
that  he  would  pay  you  ten  dollars  for  the  privilege  of 
staying  here." 

"  Yes,  miss." 

"  And  of  course  that 's  not  necessary  now." 

"No-o,  miss." 

A  very  small  white  hand  —  a  mere  child's  hand  —  was 
here  extended,  palm  uppermost. 

The  official,  demoralized  completely,  looked  at  it  a 
moment,  then  went  into  his  pockets  and  counted  out  into 
the  palm  the  coins  given  by  Jeff:  they  completely  filled 
the  tiny  receptacle. 

Miss  Mayfield  counted  the  money  gravely,  and  placed 
it  in  her  portemonnaie  with  a  snap. 

Certain  qualities  affect  certain  natures.  This  practical 
business  act  of  the  diminutive  beauty  before  him  —  albeit 
he  was  just  ten  dollars  out  of  pocket  by  it  —  struck  the 
official  into  helpless  admiration.  He  hesitated. 

"  That 's  all,"  said  Miss  Mayfield  coolly  ;  "  you  need  not 
wait.  The  letter  was  only  an  excuse  to  get  Mr.  Briggs  out 
of  the  way." 

"  I  understand  ye,  miss."  He  hesitated  still.  "  Do 
you  reckon  to  stop  in  these  parts  long  ?  " 

"  I  don't  know." 

"  'Cause  ye  ought  to  come  down  some  day  to  the  Forks. " 

"  Yes." 

"  Good  morning,  miss." 

."  Good  morning." 

Yet  at  the  corner  of  the  house  the  rascal  turned  and 
looked  back  at  the  little  figure  in  the  sunlight.  He  had 
just  been  physically  overcome  by  a  younger  man  —  he  had 


JEFF   BRIGGS'S   LOVE   STORY  219 

lost  ten  dollars  —  he  had  a  wife  and  three  children.  He  for- 
got all  this.  He  had  been  captivated  by  Miss  Mayfield  ! 

That  practical  heroine  sat  there  five  minutes.  At  the 
end  of  that  time  Jeff  came  bounding  down  the  hill,  his 
curls  damp  with  perspiration  ;  his  fresh,  honest  face  the 
picture  of  woe,  her  woe,  for  the  letter  could  not  be  found  ! 

"  Never  mind,  Mr.  Jeff.  I  wrote  another  and  gave  it  to 
him." 

Two  tears  were  standing  on  her  cheeks.  Jeff  turned 
white. 

"  Good  God,  miss  !  " 

"  It 's  nothing.  You  were  right,  Mr.  Jeff !  I  ought  not 
to  have  walked  down  here  alone. '  I  'm  very,  very  tired, 
and  —  so  —  so  miserable." 

What  woman  could  withstand  the  anguish  of  that  honest 
boyish  face  ?  I  fear  Miss  Mayfield  could,  for  she  looked 
at  him  over  her  handkerchief,  and  said,  "Perhaps  you  had 
something  to  say  to  your  friend,  and  I  've  sent  him  off." 

"  Nothing,"  said  Jeff  hurriedly ;  and  she  saw  that  all 
his  other  troubles  had  vanished  at  the  sight  of  her  weak- 
ness. She  rose  tremblingly  from  her  seat.  "  I  think  I 
will  go  in  now,  but  I  think  —  I  think  —  I  must  ask  you  to 
—  to  —  carry  me  !  " 

Oh,  lame  and  impotent  conclusion ! 

The  next  moment,  Jeff,  pale,  strong,  passionate,  but 
tender  as  a  mother  lifted  her  in  his  arms  and  brought  her 
into  the  sitting-room.  A  simultaneous  ejaculation  broke 
from  Aunt  Sally  and  Mrs.  Mayfield  —  the  possible  com- 
ment of  posterity  on  the  whole  episode. 

"  Well,  Jeff,  I  reckoned  you  'd  be  up'  to  suthin'  like 
that !  " 

"  Well,  Jessie  !  I  knew  you  could  n't  be  trusted." 

Mr.  James  Dodd  did  not  return  from  the  Forks  that 
afternoon,  to  Jeff's  vague  uneasiness.  Towards  evening  a 


220  JEFF   BRIGGS'S   LOVE   STORY 

messenger  brought  a  note  from  him,  written  on  the  back  of 
a  printed  legal  form,  to  this  effect :  — 

DEAK  SIR,  —  Seeing  as  you  Intend  to  act  on  the  Square 
in  regard  to  that  little  Mater  I  have  aranged  Things  so 
that  I  ant  got  to  stop  with  you  but  I  '11  drop  in  onct  in  a 
wile  to  keep  up  a  show  for  a  Drink  —  respy  yours, 

J.  DODD. 

In  this  latter  suggestion  our  legal  Cerberus  exhibited  all 
three  of  his  heads  at  once.  One  could  keep  faith  with 
Miss  Mayfield,  one  could  see  her  "onct  in  a  wile,"  and 
one  could  drink  at  Jeff's  expense.  Innocent  Jeff  saw  only 
generosity  and  kindness  in  the  man  he  had  half-choked, 
and  a  sense  of  remorse  and  shame  almost  outweighed  the 
relief  of  his  absence.  "  He  might  hev  been  ugly,"  said 
Jeff.  Ho  did  not  know  how,  in  this  selfish  world,  there  is 
very  little  room  for  gratuitous,  active  ugliness. 

Miss  Mayfield  did  not  leave  her  room  that  afternoon. 
The  wind  was  getting  up,  and  it  was  growing  dark  when 
Jeff,  idly  sitting  on  his  porch,  hoping  for  her  appearance, 
was  quite  astounded  at  the  apparition  of  Yuba  Bill  as  a 
pedestrian,  dusty  and  thirsty,  making  for  his  usual  refresh- 
ment. Jeff  brought  out  the  bottle,  but  could  not  refrain 
from  mixing  his  verbal  astonishment  with  the  conventional 
cocktail.  Bill,  partaking  of  his  liquor  and  becoming  once 
more  a  speaking  animal,  slowly  drew  off  his  heavy,  baggy 
driving-gloves.  No  one  had  ever  seen  Bill  without  them  — 
he  was  currently  believed  to  sleep  in  them  —  and  when  he 
laid  them  on  the  counter  they  still  retained  the  grip  of  his 
hand,  which  gave  them  an  entertaining  likeness  to  two 
plethoric  and  over-fed  spiders. 

"  Ef  I  concluded  to  pass  over  my  lines  to  a  friend  and 
take  a  pasear  up  yer  this  evening,"  said  Bill,  eyeing  Jeff 
sharply,  "  I  don't  know  ez  thar  's  any  law  agin  it !  Onless 


JEFF  LIFTED   HER  IN   HIS  ARMS 


JEFF   BRIGGS'S   LOVE   STORY  221 

yer  keepin'  a  private  branch  o'  the  Occidental  Ho-tel,  and 
on'y  take  in  fash'n'ble  famraerlies !  " 

Jeff,  with  a  rising  color,  protested  against  such  a  suppo- 
sition. 

"  Because  ef  ye  are"  said  Bill,  lifting  his  voice,  and 
crushing  one  of  the  overgrown  spiders  with  his  fist,  "  I  've 
got  a  word  or  two  to  say  to  the  son  of  Joe  Briggs  of 
Tuolumne.  Yes,  sir  !  Joe  Briggs  —  yer  father  —  ez  blew 
his  brains  out  for  want  of  a  man  ez  could  stand  up  and  say 
a  word  to  him  at  the  right  time." 

"Bill,"  said  Jeff,  in  a  low,  resolute  tone  —  that  tone 
yielded  up  only  from  the  smitten  chords  of  despair  and 
desperation  —  "  thar  's  a  sick  woman  in  the  house.  I  '11 
listen  to  anything  you  've  got  to  say  if  you  '11  say  it  quietly. 
But  you  must  and  shall  speak  low." 

Real  men  quickly  recognize  real  men  the  world  over ;  it 
is  only  your  shams  who  fence  and  spar.  Bill,  taking  in  the 
voice  of  the  speaker  more  than  his  words,  dropped  his  own. 

"  I  said  I  had  a  kepple  of  words  to  say  to  ye.  Thar  is  n't 
any  time  in  the  last  fower  months  —  ever  since  ye  took 
stock  in  this  old  shanty,  for  the  matter  o'  that  —  that  I 
could  n't  hev  said  them  to  ye.  I  've  knowed  all  your  doin's. 
I  've  knowed  all  your  debts,  'spesh'ly  that  ye  owe  that 
sueakin'  hound  Parker ;  and  thar  is  n't  a  time  that  I 
could  n't  and  would  n't  hev  chipped  in  and  paid  'em  for 
ye  —  for  your  father's  sake  —  ef  I'd  allowed  it  to  be  the 
square  thing  for  ye.  But  I  know  ye,  Jeff.  I  know  what 's 
in  your  blood.  I  knew  your  father  —  allus  dreamin',  hopin', 
waitin' ;  I  know  you,  Jeff,  dreamin',  hopin',  waitin'  till 
the  end.  And  I  stood  by,  givin'  you  a  free  rein,  and  let 
it  come ! " 

Jeff  buried  his  face  in  his  hands. 

"  It  ain't  your  blame  —  it 's  blood  !  It  ain't  a  week  ago 
ez  the  kimpany  passes  me  over  a  hoss.  '  Three  quarters 
Morgan,'  sez  they.  Sez  I,  '  Wot 's  the  other  quarter  ?  ' 


2L>2  JEFF   BRIGGS'S   LOVE   STORY 

Sez  they,  '  A  Mexican  half-breed.'  Well,  she  was  a  fair 
sort  of  hoss.  Comin'  down  Heavytree  Hill  last  trip,  we 
meets  a  drove  o'  Spanish  steers.  In  course  she  goes  wild 
directly.  Blood  !  " 

Bill  raised  his  glass,  softly  swirled  its  contents  round 
and  round,  tasted  it,  and  set  it  down. 

"  The  kepple  o'  words  I  had  to  say  to  ye  was  this :  Git 
up  and  git ! " 

Something  like  this  had  passed  through  Jeffs  mind  the 
day  before  the  Mayfields  came.  Something  like  it  had 
haunted  him  once  or  twice  since.  He  turned  quickly  upon 
the  speaker. 

"  Ez  how  ?  you  sez,"  said  Bill,  catching  at  the  look.  "  I 
drives  up  yer  some  night,  and  you  sez  to  me,  '  Bill,  hev 
you  got  two  seats  over  to  the  Divide  for  me  and  aunty  — 
out  on  a  pasear.'  And  I  sez,  '  I  happen  to  hev  one  inside 
and  one  on  the  box  with  me.'  And  you  hands  out  yer 
traps  and  any  vallybles  ye  don't  Avant  ter  leave,  and  you 
puts  your  aunt  inside,  and  gets  up  on  the  box  with  me. 
And  you  sez  to  me,  ez  man  to  man,  '  Bill,'  sez  you,  '  might 
you  hev  a  kepple  o'  hundred  dollars  about  ye  that  ye  could 
lend  a  man  ez  was  leaving  the  county,  dead  broke  ?  '  and 
I  sez,  '  I  've  got  it,  and  I  know  of  an  op'nin'  for  such  a  man 
in  the  next  county.'  And  you  steps  into  that  op'nin',  and 
your  creditors  —  'spesh'ly  Parker  —  slips  into  this,  and  in 
a  week  they  offers  to  settle  with  ye  ten  cents  on  the  dollar." 

Jeff  started,  flushed,  trembled,  recovered  himself,  and 
after  a  moment  said,  doggedly,  "  I  can't  do  it,  Bill ;  I 
could  n't." 

"  In  course,"  said  Bill,  putting  his  hands  slowly  into  his 
pockets,  and  stretching  his  legs  out  —  "  in  course  ye  can't 
because  of  a  woman  !  " 

Jeff  turned  upon  him  like  a  hunted  bear.  Both  men 
rose,  but  Bill  already  had  his  hand  on  Jeffs  shoulder. 

"  I  reckoned  a  minute  ago  there  was  a  sick  gal  in  the 


JEFF   BRIGGS'S  LOVE   STORY  223 

house  !  Who  's  going  to  make  a  row  now  !  Who  's  going 
to  stamp  and  tear  round,  eh  ?  " 

Jeff  sank  back  on  his  chair. 

"  I  said  thar  was  a  woman,"  continued  Bill ;  "  thar  allus 
is  one  !  Let  a  man  be  hell-bent  or  heaven-bent,  somewhere 
in  his  track  is  a  woman's  feet.  I  don't  say  anythin'  agin 
this  gal,  ez  a  gal.  The  best  of  'em,  Jeff,  is  only  guide- 
posts  to  p'int  a  fellow  on  his  right  road,  and  only  a  fool  or 
a  drunken  man  holds  on  to  'em  or  leans  agin  'em.  Allowin' 
this  gal  is  all  you  think  she  is,  how  far  is  your  guide-post 
goin'  with  ye,  eh  ?  Is  she  goin'  to  leave  her  father  and 
mother  for  ye  ?  Is  she  goin'  to  give  up  herself  and  her 
easy  ways  and  her  sicknesses  for  ye  ?  Is  she  willin'  to  take 
ye  for  a  perpetooal  landlord  the  rest  of  her  life  ?  And  if 
she  is,  Jeff,  are  ye  the  man  to  let  her  ?  Are  ye  willin'  to 
run  on  her  errants,  to  fetch  her  dinners  ez  ye  do  ?  Thar 
ez  men  ez  does  it ;  not  yer  in  Californy,  but  over  in  the 
States  thar  's  fellows  is.  willing  to  take  that  situation. 
I  've  heard,"  continued  Bill,  in  a  low,  mysterious  voice,  as 
of  one  describing  the  habits  of  the  Anthropophagi  —  "  I  've 
heard  o'  fellows  ez  call  themselves  men,  sellin'  of  them- 
selves to  rich  women  in  that  way.  I  've  heard  o'  rich  gals 
buyin'  of  men  for  their  shape  ;  sometimes  —  but  thet  's  in 
f urrin'  kintries  —  for  their  pedigree  !  I  've  heard  o'  fellows 
bein'  in  that  business,  and  callin'  themselves  men  instead 
o'  bosses !  Ye  ain't  that  kind  o'  man,  Jeff.  'T  ain't  in  yer 
blood.  Yer  father  was  a  fool  about  women,  and  hi  course 
they  ruined  him,  as  they  allus  do  the  best  men.  It 's  on'y 
the  fools  and  sneaks  ez  a  woman  ever  makes  anythin'  out 
of.  When  ye  hear  of  a  man  a  woman  hez  made,  ye  hears 
of  a  nincompoop  !  And  when  they  does  produce  'em  in 
the  way  o'  nater,  they  ain't  responsible  for  'em,  and  sez 
they  're  the  image  o'  their  fathers  !  Ye  ain't  a  man  ez  is 
goin'  to  trust  yer  fate  to  a  woman  !  " 

"No,"  said  Jeff  darkly. 


224  JEFF   BRIGGS'S   LOVE   STORY 

"I  reckoned  not,"  said  Bill,  putting  his  hands  in  his 
pockets  again.  "  Ye  might  if  ye  was  one  o'  them  kind  o' 
fellows  as  kem  up  from  'Frisco  with  her  to  Sacramento. 
One  o'  them  kind  o'  fellows  ez  could  sling  poetry  and 
French  and  Latin  to  her  —  one  of  her  kind  —  but  ye  ain't! 
No,  sir  !  " 

Unwise  William  of  Yuba !  In  any  other  breast  but 
Jeffs  that  random  shot  would  have  awakened  the  irregular 
auxiliary  of  love  — jealousy !  But  Jeff,  being  at  once  proud 
and  humble,  had  neither  vanity  nor  conceit,  without  which 
jealousy  is  impossible.  Yet  he  winced  a  little,  for  he  had 
feeling,  and  then  said  earnestly,  — 

"  Do  you  think  that  opening  you  spoke  of  would  hold 
for  a  day  or  two  longer  ?  " 

"  I  reckon." 

"  Well,  then,  I  think  I  can  settle  up  matters  here  my 
own  way,  and  go  with  you,  Bill." 

He  had  risen,  and  yet  hesitatingly  kept  his  hand  on  the 
back  of  his  chair.  "  Bill !  " 

"Jeff!" 

"  I  want  to  ask  you  a  question ;  speak  up,  and  don't 
mind  me,  but  say  the  truth." 

Our  crafty  Ulysses,  believing  that  he  was  about  to  be 
entrapped,  ensconced  himself  in  his  pockets,  cocked  one  eye, 
and  said,  "  Go  on,  Jeff." 

"  Was  my  father  very  bad  ?  " 

Bill  took  his  hands  from  his  pockets.  "  Thar  is  n't  a 
man  ez  crawls  above  his  grave  ez  is  worthy  to  lie  in  the 
same  ground  with  him  !  " 

"  Thank  you,  Bill.    Good-night ;  I  'm  going  to  turn  in !  " 

"  Look  yar,  boy  !  G — d  d — n  it  all,  Jeff !  what  do  ye 
mean  ?  " 

There  were  two  tears  —  twin  sisters  of  those  in  his  sweet- 
heart's eyes  that  afternoon  —  now  standing  in  Jeffs  ! 

Bill  caught  both  his  hands  in  his  own.     Mad  they  been 


JEFF   BRIGGS'S    LOVE   STORY  225 

of  the  Latin  race  they  would  have,  right  honestly,  taken 
each  other  in  their  arms,  and  perhaps  kissed  !  Being 
Anglo-Saxons,  they  gripped  each  other's  hands  hard,  and 
one,  as  above  stated,  swore  ! 

When  Jeff  ascended  to  his  room  that  night,  he  went 
directly  to  his  trunk  and  took  out  Miss  Mayfield's  slipper. 
Alack  !  during  the  day  Aunt  Sally  had  "  put  things  to 
rights  "  in  his  room,  and  the  trunk  had  been  moved.  This 
had  somewhat  disordered  its  contents,  and  Miss  Mayfield's 
slipper  contained  a  dozen  shot  from  a  broken  Eley's  car- 
tridge, a  few  quinine  pills,  four  postage  stamps,  part  of  a 
coral  earring  which  Jeff — on  the  most  apocryphal  authority 
—  fondly  believed  belonged  to  his  mother,  whom  he  had. 
never  seen,  and  a  small  silver  school  medal  which  Jeff  had 
once  received  for  "good  conduct,"  much  to  his  own  sur- 
prise, but  which  he  still  religiously  kept  as  evidence  of 
former  conventional  character.  He  colored  a  little,  rubbed 
the  medal  and  earring  ruefully  on  his  sleeve,  replaced 
them  in  his  trunk,  and  then  hastily  emptied  the  rest  of  the 
slipper's  contents  on  the  floor.  This  done,  he  drew  off  his 
boots,  and  gliding  noiselessly  down  the  stair,  hung  the 
slipper  on  the  knob  of  Miss  Mayfield's  door,  and  glided 
back  again  without  detection. 

Helling  himself  in  his  blankets,  he  lay  down  on  his  bed. 
But  not  to  sleep  !  Staringly  wide  awake,  he  at  last  felt 
the  lulling  of  the  wind  that  nightly  shook  his  casement, 
and  listened  while  the  great,  rambling,  creaking,  disjointed 
"Half-way  House"  slowly  settled  itself  to  repose.  He 
thought  of  many  things.;  of  himself,  of  his  past,  of  his 
future,  but  chiefly,  I  fear,  of  the  pale  proud  face  now  sleep- 
ing contentedly  in  the  chamber  below  him.  He  tossed 
with  many  plans  and  projects,  more  or  less  impracticable, 
and  then  began  to  doze.  Whereat  the  moon,  creeping  in 
the  window,  laid  a  cold  white  arm  across  him,  and  eventu- 
ally dried  a  few  foolish  tears  upon  his  sleeping  lashes. 


226  JEFF   BRIGGS'S   LOVE   STORY 


IV 

Aunt  Sally  was  making  pies  in  the  kitchen  the  next 
morning  when  Jeff  hesitatingly  stole  upon  her.  The  mo- 
ment was  not  a  felicitous  one.  Pie-making  was  usually  an 
aggressive  pursuit  with  Aunt  Sally,  entered  into  severely, 
and  prosecuted  unto  the  bitter  end.  After  watching  her 
a  few  moments  Jeff  came  up  and  placed  his  arms  tenderly 
around  her.  People  very  much  in  love  find  relief,  I  am 
told,  in  this  vicarious  expression. 

"  Aunty." 

"  Well,  Jeff !  Thar,  now  —  yer  gittin'  all  dough  !  " 
Nevertheless,  the  hard  face  relaxed  a  little.  Something 
of  a  smile  stole  round  her  mouth,  showing  what  she  might 
have  been  before  theology  and  bitters  had  supplied  the 
natural  feminine  longings. 

"  Aunty  dear  !  " 

"You  —  boy  !" 

It  was  a  boy's  face  —  albeit  bearded  like  the  pard,  with  an 
extra  fierceness  in  the  mustaches  —  that  looked  upon  hers. 
She  could  not  help  bestowing  a  grim  floury  kiss  upon  it. 

"  Well,  what  is  it  now  ?  " 

"  I  'm  thinking,  aunty,  it 's  high  time  you  and  me  packed 
up  our  traps  and  '  shook '  this  yar  shanty,  and  located 
somewhere  else."  Jeff's  voice  was  ostentatiously  cheerful, 
but  his  eyes  were  a  little  anxious. 

"  What  for  now  ?  " 

Jeff  hastily  recounted  his  ill  luck,  and  the  various  rea- 
sons —  excepting  of  course  the  dominant  one  —  for  his 
resolution. 

"  And  when  do  you  kalkilate  to  go  ?  " 

"  If  you  '11  look  arter  things  here,"  hesitated  Jeff,  "  I 
reckon  I'll  go  up  along  with  Bill  to-morrow,  and  look 
round  a  bit." 


JEFF   BRIGGS'S   LOVE   STORY  227 

"And  how  long  do  you  reckon  that  gal  would  stay  hero 
after  yar  gone  ?  " 

This  was  a  new  and  startling  idea  to  Jeff.  But  in  his 
humility  he  saw  nothing  in  it  to  flatter  his  conceit.  Rather 
the  reverse.  He  colored,  and  then  said  apologetically,  — 

"  I  thought  that  you  and  Jinny  could  get  along  without 
me.  The  butcher  will  pack  the  provisions  over  from  the 
Fork." 

Laying  down  her  rolling-pin,  Aunt  Sally  turned  upon 
Jeff  with  ostentatious  deliberation.  "  Ye  ain't,"  she  began 
slowly,  "  ez  taking  a  man  with  wimmen  ez  your  father  was 
—  that 's  a  fact,  Jeff  Briggs !  They  used  to  say  that  no 
woman  as  he  went  for  could  get  away  from  him.  But  ye 
don't  mean  to  say  yer  think  yer  not  good  enough  —  such  as 
ye  are  —  for  this  snip  of  an  old  maid,  ez  big  as  a  gold 
dollar,  and  as  yaller  ?  " 

"  Aunty,"  said  Jeff,  dropping  his  boyish  manner,  and  his 
color  as  suddenly,  "  I  'd  rather  ye  would  n't  talk  that  way 
of  Miss  May  field.  Ye  don't  know  her  ;  arid  there  's  times," 
he  added,  with  a  sigh,  "  ez  I  reckon  ye  don't  quite  know 
me  either.  That  young  lady,  bein'  sick,  likes  to  be  looked 
after.  Any  one  can  do  that  for  her.  She  don't  mind  who 
it  is.  She  don't  care  for  me  except  for  that,  and,"  added 
Jeff  humbly,  "  it 's  quite  natural." 

"  I  did  n't  say  she  did,"  returned  Aunt  Sally  viciously  ; 
"  but  seeing  ez  you  've  got  an  empty  house  yer  on  yer  hands, 
and  me  a-slavin'  here  on  jist  nothin',  if  this  gal,  for  the  sake 
o'  gallivantin'  with  ye  for  a  spell,  chooses  to  stay  here  and 
keep  her  family  here,  and  pay  high  for  it,  I  don't  see  why 
it  ain't  yer  duty  to  Providence  and  me  to  take  advantage 
of  it." 

Jeff  raised  his  eyes  to  his  aunt's  face.  For  the  first  time 
it  struck  him  that  she  might  be  his  father's  sister  and  yet 
have  no  blood  in  her  veins  that  answered  to  his.  There 
are  few  shocks  more  startling  and  overpowering  to  original 


228  JEFF   BRIGGS'S   LOVE   STORY 

natures  than  this  sudden  sense  of  loneliness.  Jeff  could 
not  speak,  but  remained  looking  fiercely  at  her. 

Aunt  Sally  misinterpreted  his  silence,  and  returned  to 
her  work  on  the  pies.  "  The  gal  ain't  no  fool,"  she  con- 
tinued, rolling  out  the  crust  as  if  she  were  laying  down 
broad  propositions.  "She  reckons  on  it  too,  ez  if  it  was 
charged  in  the  bill  with  the  board  and  lodging.  Why,' 
did  n't  she  say  to  me,  last  night,  that  she  kalkilated  afore 
she  went  away  to  bring  up  some  friends  from  'Frisco  for  a 
few  days'  visit  ?  and  did  n't  she  say,  in  that  pipin',  affected 
v'ice  o'  hers,  '  I  oughter  make  some  return  for  yer  kindness 
and  yer  nephew's  kindness,  Aunt  Sally,  by  showing  people 
that  can  help  you,  and  keep  your  house  full,  how  pleasant 
it  is  up  here.'  She  ain't  no  fool,  with  all  her  faintin's  and 
dyin's  away  !  No,  Jeff  Briggs.  And  if  she  wants  to  show 
ye  off  agin  them  city  fellows  ez  she  knows,  and  ye  ain't  got 
spunk  enough  to  stand  up  and  show  off  with  her  —  why  "  — 
she  turned  her  head  impatiently,  but  he  was  gone. 

If  Jeff  had  ever  wavered  in  his  resolution  he  would  have 
b**en  steady  enough  now.  But  he  had  never  wavered ;  the 
convictions  and  resolutions  of  suddenly  awakened  character 
are  seldom  moved  by  expediency.  He  was  eager  to  taste 
the  bitter  dregs  of  his  cup  at  once.  He  began  to  pack  his 
trunk,  and  made  his  preparations  for  departure.  Without 
avoiding  Miss  Mayfield  in  this  new  excitement,  he  no  longer 
felt  the  need  of  her  presence.  He  had  satisfied  his  feverish 
anxieties  by  placing  his  trunk  in  the  hall  beside  his  open 
door,  and  was  sitting  on  his  bed,  wrestling  with  a  faded  and 
overtasked  carpet-bag  that  would  not  slose  and  accept  his 
hard  conditions,  when  a  small  voice  from  the  staircase 
thrilled  him.  He  walked  to  the  corridor,  and,  looking  down, 
beheld  Miss  Mayfield  midway  on  the  steps  of  the  staircase. 

She  had  never  looked  so  beautiful  before  !  Jeff  had  only 
seen  her  in  those  soft  enwrappings  and  half-deshabille  that 
belong  to  invalid  femininity.  Always  refined  and  modest 


JEFF   BRIGGS'S   LOVE   STORY  229 

thus,  in  her  present  walking-costume  there  was  added  a 
slight  touch  of  coquettish  adornment.  There  was  a  bright- 
ness of  color  in  her  cheek  and  eye,  partly  the  result  of 
climbing  the  staircase,  partly  the  result  of  that  audacious 
impulse  that  had  led  her — a  modest  virgin  —  to  seek  a 
gentleman  in  this  personal  fashion.  Modesty  in  a  young 
girl  has  a  comfortable  satisfying  charm,  recognized  easily 
by  all  humanity ;  but  he  must  be  a  sorry  knave  or  a  worse 
prig  who  is  not  deliciously  thrilled  when  Modesty  puts  her 
charming  little  foot  just  over  the  threshold  of  Propriety. 

"  The  mountain  would  not  come  to  Mohammed,  so 
Mohammed  must  come  to  the  mountain,"  said  Miss  May- 
field.  "  Mother  is  asleep,  Aunt  Sally  is  at  work  in  the 
kitchen,  and  here  am  I,  already  dressed  for  a  ramble  in  this 
bright  afternoon  sunshine,  and  no  one  to  go  with  me.  But, 
perhaps,  you,  too,  are  busy  ?  " 

"  No,  miss.     I  will  be  with  you  in  a  moment." 

I  wish  I  could  say  that  he  went  back  to  calm  his  pulses, 
which  the  dangerous  music  of  Miss  Mayfield's  voice  had  set 
to  throbbing,  by  a  few  moments'  calm  and  dispassionate 
reflection.  But  he  only  returned  to  brush  his  curls  out  of 
his  eyes  and  ears,  and  to  button  over  his  blue  flannel  shirt 
a  white  linen  collar,  which  he  thought  might  better  har- 
monize with  Miss  Mayfield's  attire. 

She  was  sitting  on  the  staircase,  poking  her  parasol 
through  the  balusters.  "You  need  not  have  taken  that 
trouble,  Mr.  Jeff,"  she  said  pleasantly.  "  You  are  a  part 
of  this  mountain  picture  at  all  times ;  but  /  am  obliged  to 
think  of  dress." 

"  It  was  no  trouble,  miss." 

Something  in  the  tone  of  his  voice  made  her  look  in  his 
face  as  she  rose.  It  was  a  trifle  paler,  and  a  little  older. 
The  result,  doubtless,  thought  Miss  Mayfield,  of  his  yester- 
day's experience  with  the  deputy-sheriff.  Such  was  her 
rapid  deduction.  Nevertheless,  after  the  fashion  of  her 


230  JEFF   BRIGGS'S   LOVE   STORY 

sex,  she  immediately  began  to  argue  from  quite  anothe* 
hypothesis. 

"  You  are  angry  with  me,  Mr.  Jeff." 

"What,  I  — Miss  Mayfield  ?  " 

"  Yes,  you  !  " 

"  Miss  Mayfield  !  " 

"  Oh  yes,  you  are.     Don't  deny  it  ?  " 

"  Upon  my  soul  "  — 

"  Yes  !     You  give  me  punishments  and  —  penances !  " 

Jeff  opened  his  blue  eyes  on  his  tormentor.  Could 
Aunt  Sally  have  been  saying  anything  ? 

"  If  anybody,  Miss  Mayfield  "  —  he  began. 

"  Nobody  but  you.     Look  here  !  " 

She  extended  her  little  hand  with  a  smile.  In  the 
centre  of  her  palm  lay  four  shining  double  B  shot. 

"There  !     I  found  those  in  my  slipper  this  morning !  " 

Jeff  was  speechless. 

"  Of  course  you  did  it  !  Of  course  it  was  you  who  found 
my  slipper  !  "  said  Miss  Mayfield,  laughing.  "  But  why  did 
you  put  shot  in  it,  Mr.  Jeff?  In  some  Catholic  countries, 
when  people  have  done  wrong,  the  priests  make  them  do 
penance  by  walking  with  peas  in  their  shoes !  What  have 
I  ever  done  to  you  ?  And  why  shot  ?  They  're  ever  so 
much  harder  than  peas." 

Seeing  only  the  mischievous,  laughing  face  before  him, 
and  the  open  palm  containing  the  damning  evidence  of  the 
broken  Eley's  cartridge,  Jeff  stammered  out  the  truth. 

"  I  found  the  slipper  in  the  bear-skin,  Miss  Mayfield.  I 
put  it  in  my  trunk  to  keep,  thinking  yer  would  n't  miss  it, 
and  it 's  being  a  kind  of  remembrance  after  you  're  gone 
away  —  of — of  the  night  you  came  here.  Somebody 
moved  the  trunk  in  my  room,"  and  he  hung  his  head  here. 
"The  things  inside  all  got  mixed  up." 

"  And  that  made  yon  change  your  mind  about  keeping 
it  ?  "  said  Miss  Mayfield,  still  smiling. 


JEFF   BRIGGS'S   LOVE   STORY  231 

"No,  miss." 

"  What  was  it,  then  ?  " 

"  I  gave  it  back  to  you,  Miss  Mayfield,  because  /  was 
going  away." 
.  "  Indeed  !     Where  ?  " 

"  I  'm  going  to  find  another  location.  Maybe  you  've 
noticed,"  he  continued,  falling  back  into  his  old  apologetic 
manner  in  spite  of  his  pride  of  resolution  —  "  maybe  you  've 
noticed  that  this  place  here  has  no  advantages  for  a  hotel." 

"  I  had  not,  indeed.     I  have  been  very  comfortable." 
1  "  Thank  you,  miss." 

"  When  do  you  go  ?  " 

"To-night." 

For  all  his  pride  and  fixed  •  purpose  he  could  not  help 
looking  eagerly  in  her  face.  Miss  Mayfield's  eyes  met  his 
pleasantly  and  quietly. 

"  I  'm  sorry  to  part  with  you  so  soon,"  she  said,  as  she 
stepped  back  a  pace  or  two  with  folded  hands.  "  Of  course 
every  moment  of  your  time  now  is  occupied.  You  must 
not  think  of  wasting  it  on  me." 

But  Jeff  had  recovered  his  sad  composure.  "  I  'd  like 
to  go  with  you,  Miss  Mayfield.  It 's  the  last  time,  you 
know,"  he  added  simply. 

Miss  Mayfield  did  not  reply. "  It  was  a  tacit  assent,  how- 
ever, although  she  moved  somewhat  stiffly  at  his  side  as 
they  walked  towards  the  door.  Quite  convinced  that  Jeffs 
resolution  came  from  his  pecuniary  troubles,  Miss  Mayfield 
was  wondering  if  she  had  not  better  assure  him  of  his 
security  from  further  annoyance  from  Dodd.  Wonderful 
complexity  of  female  intellect !  she  was  a  little  hurt  at  his 
ingratitude  to  her  for  a  kindness  he  could  not  possibly  have 
known.  Miss  Mayfield  felt  that  in  some  way  she  was  un- 
justly treated.  How  many  of  our  miserable  sex,  incapable 
of  divination,  have  been  crushed  under  that  unreasonable 
feminine  reproof.  "  You  ought  to  have  known  !  " 


232  JEFF   BRIGGS'S   LOVE   STORT 

The  afternoon  sun  was  indeed  shining  brightly  as  they 
stepped  out  before  the  bleak  angle  of  the  "  Half-way 
House ;  "  but  it  failed  to  mitigate  the  habitually  practical 
austerity  of  the  mountain  breeze  —  a  fact  which  Miss  May- 
field  had  never  before  noticed.  The  house  was  certainly 
bleak  and  exposed ;  the  site  by  no  means  a  poetical  one. 
She  wondered  if  she  had  not  put  a  romance  into  it,  and 
perhaps  even  into  the  man  beside  her,  which  did  not  belong 
to  either.  It  was  a  moment  of  dangerous  doubt. 

"  I  don't  know  but  that  you  're  right,  Mr.  Jeff,"  she  said 
finally,  as  they  faced  the  hill,  and  began  the  ascent  together. 
"  This  place  is  a  little  queer,  and  bleak,  and  —  unattrac- 
tive." 

"  Yes,  miss,"  said  Jeff,  'with  direct  simplicity,  "  I  *ve 
always  wondered  what  you  saw  in  it  to  make  you  content 
to  stay,  when  it  would  be  so  much  prettier,  and  more  suit- 
able for  you  at  the  '  Summit.'  " 

Miss  Mayfield  bit  her  lip,  and  was  silent.  After  a  few 
moments'  climbing  she  said,  almost  pettishly,  "  Where  is 
this  famous  '  Summit '  ?  " 

Jeff  stopped.  They  had  reached  the  top  of  the  hill. 
He  pointed  across  an  olive-green  chasm  to  a  higher  level, 
where,  basking  in  the  declining  sun,  clustered  the  long 
rambling  outbuildings  around  the  white  blinking  facade  of 
the  "  Summit  House."  Framed  in  pines  and  hemlocks, 
tender  with  soft  gray  shadows,  and  nestling  beyond  a 
foreground  of  cultivated  slope,  it  was  a  charming  ruetic  pic- 
ture. 

Miss  Mayfield's  quick  eye  took  in  its  details.  Her  quick 
intellect  took  in  something  else.  She  had  seated  herself 
on  the  road-bank,  and  clasping  her  knees  between  her 
locked  fingers,  she  suddenly  looked  up  at  Jeff.  "What 
possessed  you  to  come  half-way  up  a  mountain,  instead  of 
going  on  to  the  top  ?  " 

"  Poverty,  miss  !  " 


JEFF   BRIGGS'S   LOVE   STORY  23?- 

Miss  Mayfield  flushed  a  little  at  this  practical  direct 
answer  to  her  half-figurative  question.  However,  she  began 
to  think  that  moral  Alpine-climbing  youth  might  have 
pecuniary  restrictions  in  their  high  ambitions,  and  that  the 
hero  of  "  Excelsior  "  might  have  succumbed  to  more  power- 
ful opposition  than  the  wisdom  of  Age  or  the  blandishments 
of  Beauty. 

"  You  mean  that  poverty  up  there  is  more  expensive  ?  " 

"  Yes,  miss." 

"  But  you  would  like  to  live  there  ?  " 

"  Yes." 

They  were  both  silent.  Miss  Mayfield  glanced  at  Jeff 
under  the  corners  of  her  lashes.  He  was  leaning  against  a 
tree,  absorbed  in  thought.  Accustomed  to  look  upon  him 
as  a  pleasing  picturesque  object,  quite  fresh,  original,  and 
characteristic,  she  was  somewhat  disturbed  to  find  that  to- 
day he  presented  certain  other  qualities  which  clearly  did 
not  agree  with  her  preconceived  ideas  of  his  condition. 
He  had  abandoned  his  usual  large  top-boots  for  low  shoes, 
and  she  could  not  help  noticing  that  his  feet  were  small 
and  slender  as  were  his  hands,  albeit  browned  by  exposure. 
His  ruddy  color  was  gone  too,  and  his  face,  pale  with  sor- 
row and  experience,  had  a  new  expression.  His  buttoned- 
up  coat  and  white  collar,  so  unlike  his  usual  self,  also  had 
its  suggestions  —  which  Miss  Mayfield  was  at  first  inclined 
to  resent.  Women  are  quick  to  notice  and  augur  more 
or  less  wisely  from  these  small  details.  Nevertheless,  she 
began  in  quite  another  tone. 

"  Do  you  remember  your  mother  —  Mr.  —  Mr.  — 
Briggs  ?  " 

Jeff  noticed  the  new  epithet.  "  No,  miss  ;  she  died  when 
I  was  quite  young." 

"  Your  father,  then  ?  " 

Jeffs  eye  kindled  a  little,  aggressively.  "  I  remember 
him." 


234  JEFF  BRIGGS'S   LOVE   STORY 

"  What  was  he  ?  " 

"  Miss  Mayfield  !  " 

"  What  was  his  business  or  profession  ?  n 

"He  — hadn't— any!" 

<f  Oh,  I  see  —  a  gentleman  of  property." 

Jeff  hesitated,  looked  at  Miss  Mayfield  hurriedly,  colored, 
and  did  not  reply. 

"  And  lost  his  property,  Mr.  Briggs  ?  " 

With  one  of  those  rare  impulses  of  an  overtasked  gentle 
nature,  Jeff  turned  upon  her  almost  savagely.  "  My  father 
was  a  gambler,  and  shot  himself  at  a  gambling-table." 

Miss  Mayfield  rose  hurriedly.  "  I —  I —  beg  your  pardon, 
Mr.  Jeff." 

Jeff  was  silent. 

"  You  know  —  you  must  know  —  I  did  not  mean  "  — 

No  reply. 

"  Mr.  Jeff !  " 

Her  little  hand  fluttered  toward  him,  and  lit  upon  his 
sleeve,  where  it  was  suddenly  captured  and  pressed  passion- 
ately to  his  lips. 

"  I  did  not  mean  to  be  thoughtless  or  unkind,"  said  Miss 
Mayfield,  discreetly  keeping  to  the  point,  and  trying  weakly 
to  disengage  her  hand.  ".  You  know  I  would  n't  hurt  your 
feelings." 

"  I  know,  Miss  Mayfield."     (Another  kiss.) 

"  I  was  ignorant  of  your  history." 

"  Yes,  miss."      (A  kiss.) 

"  And  if  I  could  do  anything  for  you,  Mr.  Jeff  "  —  She 
stopped. 

It  was  a  very  trying  position.  Being  small,  she  was 
drawn  after  her  hand  quite  up  to  Jeff's  shoulder,  while  he, 
assenting  in  monosyllables,  was  parting  the  fingers,  and. 
kissing  them  separately.  Reasonable  discourse  in  this 
attitude  was  out  of  the  question.  She  had  recourse  to 
strategy. 


JEFF   BEIGGS'S   LOVE   STORY  235 

«  Oh  !  " 

«  Miss  Mayfield  !  " 

"  You  hurt  my  hand." 

Jeff  dropped  it  instantly.  Miss  Mayfield  put  it  in  the 
pocket  of  her  sacque  for  security.  Besides,  it  had  been  so 
bekissed  that  it  seemed  unpleasantly  conscious. 

"  I  wish  you  would  tell  me  all  ahout  yourself,"  she  went 
on,  with  a  certain  charming  feminine  submission  of  manner 
quite  unlike  her  ordinary  speech  ;  "  I  should  like  to  help 
you.  Perhaps  I  can.  You  know  I  am  quite  independent ; 
I  mean  "  — 

She  paused,  for  Jeff's  face  betrayed  no  signs  of  sympa- 
thetic following. 

"  I  mean  I  am  what  people  call  rich  in  my  own  right. 
I  can  do  as  I  please  with  my  own.  If  any  of  your  trouble, 
Mr.  Jeff,  arises  from  want  of  money,  or  capital ;  if  any 
consideration  of  that  kind  takes  you  away  from  your  home ; 
if  I  could  save  you  that  trouble,  and  find  for  you  —  perhaps 
a  little  nearer  —  that  which  you  are  seeking,  I  would  be  so 
glad  to  do  it.  You  will  find  the  world  very  wide,  and  very 
cold,  Mr.  Jeff,"  she  continued,  with  a  certain  air  of  practi- 
cal superiority  quite  natural  to  her,  but  explicable  to  h«r 
friends  and  acquaintances  only  as  the  consciousness  of  pecu- 
niary independence  ;  "  and  I  wish  you  would  be  frank  with 
me.  Although  I  am  a  woman,  I  know  something  of  busi 
ness." 

"  I  will  be  frank  with  you,  miss,"  said  Jeff,  turning  a 
colorless  face  upon  her.  "  If  you  was  ez  rich  as  the  Bank 
of  California,  and  could  throw  your  money  on  any  fancy  or 
whim  that  struck  you  at  the  moment ;  if  you  felt  you  could 
buy  up  any  man  and  woman  in  California  that  was  willing 
to  be  bought  up ;  and  if  me  and  my  aunt  were  starving  in 
the  road,  we  would  n't  touch  the  money  that  we  had  n't 
earned  fairly,  and  did  n't  belong  to  us.  No,  miss,  I  ain't 
that  sort  o'  man  !  " 


236  JEFF   BRIGGS'S   LOVE    STORY 

How  much  of  this  speech,  in  its  brusqueness  and  slang, 
was  an  echo  of  Yuba  Bill's  teaching,  how  much  of  it  was  a 
part  of  Jeff's  inward  weakness,  I  cannot  say.  He  saw  Miss 
Mayfield  recoil  from  him.  It  added  to  his  bitterness  that 
his  thought,  for  the  first  time  voiced,  appeared  to  him  by 
no  means  as  effective  or  powerful  as  he  had  imagined  it 
would  be,  but  he  could  not  recede  from  it ;  and  there  was 
the  relief  that  the  worst  had  come,  and  was  over  now. 

Miss  Mayfield  took  her  hand  out  of  her  pocket.  "  I 
don't  think  you  quite  Understand  me,  Mr.  Jeff,"  she  said 
quietly ;  "  and  I  hope  I  don't  understand  you."  She 
walked  stiffly  at  his  side  for  a  few  moments,  but  finally 
took  the  other  side  of  the  road.  They  had  both  turned, 
half  unconsciously,  back  again  to  the  "  Half-way  House." 

Jeff  felt,  like  all  quarrel-seekers,  righteous  or  unrighteous, 
the  full  burden  of  the  fight.  If  he  could  have  relieved  his 
mind,  and  at  the  next  moment  leaped  upon  Yuba  Bill's 
coach,  and  so  passed  away  —  without  a  further  word  of 
explanation  —  all  would  have  been  well.  But  to  walk  back 
with  this  girl,  whom  he  had  just  shaken  off,  and  who  must 
now  thoroughly  hate  him,  was  something  he  had  not  pre- 
conceived, in  that  delightful  forecast  of  the  imagination, 
when  we  determine  what  we  shall  say  and  do  without  the 
least  consideration  of  what  may  be  said  or  done  to  us  in 
return.  No  quarrel  proceeds  exactly  as  we  expect ;  people 
have  such  a  way  of  behaving  illogically  !  And  here  was 
Miss  Mayfield,  who  was  clearly  derelect,  and  who  should 
have  acted  under  that  conviction,  walking  along  on  the 
other  side  of  the  road,  trailing  the  splendor  of  her  parasol 
in  the  dust  like  an  offended  goddess. 

They  had  almost  reached  the  house.  "  At  what  time  do 
you  go,  Mr.  Briggs  ?  "  asked  the  young  lady  quietly. 

"  At  eleven  to-night,  by  the  up  stage." 

"  I  expect  some  friends  by  that  stage  —  coming  with  my 
father." 


JEFF   BRIGGS'S   LOVE   STORY  237 

"  My  aunt  will  take  good  care  of  them,"  said  Jeff,  a 
little  bitterly. 

"  I  have  no  doubt,"  responded  Miss  Mayfield  gravely  ; 
"but  I  was  not  thinking  of  that.  I  had  hoped  to  introduce 
them  to  you  to-morrow.  But  I  shall  not  be  up  so  late  to- 
night. And  I  had  better  say  good-by  to  you  now." 

She  extended  the  unkissed  hand.  Jeff  took  it,  but 
presently  let  the  limp  fingers  fall  through  his  own. 

"  I  wish  you  good  fortune,  Mr.  Briggs." 

She  made  a  grave  little  bow,  and  vanished  into  the 
house.  But  here,  I  regret  to  say,  her  lady-like  calm  also 
vanished.  She  upbraided  her  mother  peevishly  for  oblig- 
ing her  to  seek  the  escort  of  Mr.  Briggs  in  her  necessary 
exercise,  and  flung  herself  with  an  injured  air  upon  the 
sofa. 

"  But  I  thought  you  liked  this  Mr.  Briggs.  He  seems 
an  accommodating  sort  of  person." 

"  Very  accommodating.  Going  away  jxist  as  we  are 
expecting  company  !  " 

"  Going  away  ?  "  said  Mrs.  Mayfield  in  alarm.  "  Surely 
he  must  be  told  that  we  expect  some  preparation  for  our 
friends  ?  " 

"  Oh,"  said  Miss  Mayfield  quickly,  "  his  aunt  will 
arrange  that," 

Mrs.  Mayfield,  habitually  mystified  at  her  daughter's 
moods,  said  no  more.  She,  however,  fulfilled  her  duty 
conscientiously  by  rising,  throwing  a  wrap  over  the  young 
girl,  tucking  it  in  at  her  feet,  and  having,  as  it  were,  drawn 
a  charitable  veil  over  her  peculiarities,  left  her  alone. 

At  half  past  ten  the  coach  dashed  up  to  the  "  Half-way 
House,"  with  a  flash  of  lights  and  a  burst  of  cheery  voices. 
Jeff,  coming  upon  the  porch,  was  met  by  Mr.  Mayfield, 
accompanying  a  lady  and  two  gentlemen,  —  evidently  the 
guests  alluded  to  by  his  daughter.  Accustomed  as  Jeff 
had  become  to  Mr.  Maytield's  patronizing  superiority*  i* 


238  JEFF   BEIGGS'S   LOVE    STORY 

seemed  unbearable  now,  and  the  easy  indifference  of  the 
guests  to  his  own  presence  touched  him  with  a  new  bitter- 
ness. Here  were  her  friends,  who  were  to  take  his  place. 
It  was  a  relief  to  grasp  Yuba  Bill's  large  hand  and  stan,d 
with  him  alone  beside  the  bar. 

"  I  'm  ready  to  go  with  you  to-night,  Bill,"  said  Jeff, 
after  a  pause. 

Bill  put  down  his  glass  —  a  sign  of  absorbing  interest. 

"  And  these  yar  strangers  I  fetched  ?  " 

"  Aunty  will  take  care  of  them.     I  've  fixed  everything." 

Bill  laid  both  his  powerful  hands  on  Jeff's  shoulders, 
backed  him  against  the  wall,  and  surveyed  him  with  great 
gravity. 

"  Briggs's  son  clar  through  !  A  little  off  color,  but  the 
grit  all  thar  !  Bully  for  you,  Jeff."  He  wrung  Jeff's  hand 
between  his  own. 

"  Bill !  "  said  Jeff  hesitatingly. 

"Jeff!" 

"  You  would  n't  mind  my  getting  up  on  the  box  now, 
before  all  the  folks  get  round  ?  " 

"  I  reckon  not.     Thar 's  the  box-seat  all  ready  for  ye." 

Climbing  to  his  high  perch,  Jeff,  indistinguishable  in  the 
darkness,  looked  out  upon  the  porch  and  the  moving  figures 
of  the  passengers,  on  Bill  growling  out  his  orders  to  his 
active  hostler,  and  on  the  twinkling  lights  of  the  hotel 
windows.  In  the  mystery  of  the  night  and  the  bitterness 
of  his  heart,  everything  looked  strange.  There  was  a  light 
in  Miss  Mayfield's  room,  but  the  curtains  were  drawn. 
Once  he  thought  they  moved,  but  then,  fearful  of  the  fas- 
cination of  watching  them,  he  turned  his  .face  resolutely 
away. 

Then,  to  his  relief,  the  hour  came ;  the  passengers  re- 
entered  the  coach  ;  Bill  had  mounted  the  box,  and  was 
slowly  gathering  his  reins,  when  a  shrill  voice  rose  from 
the  porch. 


JEFF   BRIGGS'S   LOVE    STORY  239 

"Oh,  Jeff!" 

Jeff  leaned  an  anxious  face  out  over  the  coach  lamps. 

It  was  Aunt  Sally,  breathless  and  on  tiptoe,  reaching 
with  a  letter.  "  Suthin'  you  forgot !  "  Then,  in  a  hoarse 
stage  whisper,  perfectly  audible  to  every  one :  "  From 
her/" 

Jeff  seized  the  letter  with  a  burning  face.'  The  whip 
snapped,  and  the  stage  plunged  forward  into  the  darkness. 
Presently  Yuba  Bill  reached  down,  coolly  detached  one  of 
the  coach  lamps,  and  handed  it  to  Jeff  without  a  word. 

Jeff  tore  open  the  envelope.  It  contained  Cyrus  Parker's 
bill  receipted,  and  the  writ.  Another  small  inclosure  con- 
tained ten  dollars,  and  a  few  lines  written  in  pencil  in  a 
large  masculine  business  hand.  By  the  light  of  the  lamp 
Jeff  read  as  follows  :  — 

I  hope  you  will  forgive  me  for  having  tried  to  help  you 
even  in  this  accidental  way,  before  I  knew  how  strong  were 
your  objections  to  help  from  me.  Nobody  knows  this  but 
myself.  Even  Mr.  Dodd  thinks  my  father  advanced  the 
money.  The  ten  dollars  the  rascal  would  have  kept,  but  I 
made  him  disgorge  it.  I  did  it  all  while  you  were  looking 
for  the  letter  in  the  woods.  Pray  forget  all  about  it,  and 
any  pain  you  may  have  had  from.  J.  M. 

Frank  and  practical  as  this  letter  appeared  to  be,  and, 
doubtless,  as  it  was  intended  to  be  by  its  writer,  the  reader 
will  not  fail  to  notice  that  Miss  Mayfield  said  nothing  of 
having  overheard  Jeff's  quarrel  with  the  deputy,  and  left 
him  to  infer  that  that  functionary  had  betrayed  him.  It  was 
simply  one  of  those  unpleasant  details  not  affecting  the 
result,  usually  overlooked  in  feminine  ethics. 

For  a  moment  Jeff  sat  pale  and  dumb,  crushed  under  the 
ruins  of  his  pride  and  self-love.  For  a  moment  he  hated 
Miss  Mayfield,  small  and  triumphant!  How  she  must  have 


240  JEFF   BRIGGS'S   LOVE   STORY 

inwardly  laughed  at  his  speech  that  morning !  With  whaf 
refined  cruelty  she  had  saved  this  evidence  of  his  humilia- 
tion, to  work  her  vengeance  on  him  now.  He  could  not 
stand  it !  He  could  not  live  under  it !  He  would  go  back 
and  sell  the  house  —  his  clothes  —  everything  —  to  pay 
this  wicked,  heartless,  cruel  girl,  that  was  killing  —  yes, 
killing  — 

A  strong  hand  took  the  swinging-lantern  from  his  un- 
steady fingers,  a  strong  hand  possessed  itself  of  the  papers 
and  Miss  May  field's  note,  a  strong  arm  was  drawn  around 
him,  —  for  his  figure  was  swaying  to  and.  fro,  his  head  was 
giddy,  and  his  hat  had  fallen  off,  —  and  a  strong  voice,  albeit 
a  little  husky,  whispered  in  his  ear,  — 

"  Easy,  boy  !  easy  on  the  down  grade.  It  '11  be  all  one 
in  a  minit." 

Jeff  tried  to  comprehend  him,  but  his  brain  was  whirl- 
ing. 

"Pull  yourself  together,  Jeff!"  said  Bill,  after  a  pause. 
"  Thar  !  Look  yar  !  "  he  said  suddenly.  "  Do  you  think 
you  can  drive  six  ?  " 

The  words  recalled  Jeff  to  his  senses.  Bill  laid  the  six 
reins  in  his  hands.  A  sense  of  life,  of  activity,  of  power, 
came  back  to  the  young  man,  as  his  fingers  closed  deli- 
ciously  on  the  far-reaching,  thrilling,  living  leathern  sinews 
that  controlled  the  six  horses,  and  seemed  to  be  instinct 
and  magnetic  with  their  bounding  life.  Jeff,  leaning  back 
against  them,  felt  the  strong  youthful  tide  rush  back- to  his 
heart,  and  was  himself  again.  Bill,  meantime,  took  the 
lamp,  examined  the  papers,  and  read  Miss  Mayfield's  note. 
A  grim  smile  stole  over  his  face.  After  a  pause,  he  said 
again,  "  Give  Blue  Grass  her  head,  Jeff.  D — n  it,  she  ain't 
Miss  Mayfield  !  " 

Jeff  relaxed  the  muscles  of  his  wrists,  so  as  to  throw  the 
thumb  and  forefingers  a  trifle  forward.  This  simple  action 
relieved  Blue  Grass,  alias  Miss  Mayfield,  and  made .  the 


JEFF    BRIGGS'S   LOVE    STORY  241 

coach  steadier  and  less  jerky.  Wonderful  co-relation  of 
forces. 

"  Thar  !  "  said  Yuba  Bill,  quietly  putting  the  coacli  lamp 
back  in  its  place  ;  "you 're  better  already.  Thar 's  nothing 
like  six  horses  to  draw  a  woman  out  of  a  man.  I  've 
knowed  a  case  where  it  took  eight  mustangs,  but  it  was 
a  mulatter  from  New  Orleans,  and  they  are  pizen  !  Ye 
might  hit  up  a  little  on  the  Pinto  hoss  —  he  ain't  harmin' 
ye.  So  !  Now,  Jeff,  take  your  time,  and  take  it  easy,  and 
what 's  all  this  yer  about  ?  " 

To  control  six  fiery  mustangs,  and  at  the  same  time  give 
picturesque  and  affecting  exposition  of  the  subtle  struggles 
of  Love  and  Pride,  was  a  performance  beyond  Jeff's  powers. 
He  had  recourse  to  an  angry  staccato,  which  somehow 
seemed  to  him  as  ineffective  as  his  previous  discourse  to 
Miss  Mayfield ;  he  was  a  little  incoherent,  and  perhaps 
mixed  his  impressions  with  his  facts,  but  he  nevertheless 
managed  to  convey  to  Bill  some  general  idea  of  the  events 
of  the  past  thvee  days. 

"  And  she  sent  ye  off  after  that  letter,  that  was  n't  thar, 
while  she  fixed  things  up  with  Dodd  ?  " 

"  Yes,"  said  Jeff  furiously. 

"  Ye  need  n't  bully  the  Pinto  colt,  Jeff ;  he  is  doin'  his 
level  best.  And  she  snaked  that  ar  ten  dollars  outer 
Dodd  ?  " 

"  Yes  ;  and  sent  it  back  to  me.  To  ME,  Bill !  At  such 
a  time  as  this !  As  if  I  was  dead  broke  !  —  a  mere  tramp. 
As  if  "  — 

"  In  course  !  in  course  !  "  said  Bill  soothingly,  yet  turn- 
ing his  head  aside  to  bestow  a  deceitful  smile  upon  the 
trees  that  whirled  beside  him.  "  And  ye  told  her  ye  did  n't 
want  her  money  ?  " 

"  Yes,  Bill  —  but  it  —  it  —  it  was  after  she  had  done 
this ! " 

"  Surely  !     I  '11  take  the  lines  now,  Jeff." 


242  JEFF   BRIGGS'S    LOVE    STORY 

He  took  them.  Jeff  relapsed  into  gloomy  silence.  The 
starlight  of  that  dewless  Sierran  night  was  bright  and  cold 
and  passionless.  There  was  no  moon  to  lead  the  fancy 
astray  with  its  faint  mysteries  and  suggestions  ;  nothing 
but  a  clear,  grayish-blue  twilight,  with  sharply  silhouetted 
shadows,  pointed  here  and  there  with  bright  large-spaced 
constant  stars.  The  deep  breath  of  the  pine-woods,  the 
faint,  cool  resinous  spices  of  bay  and  laurel,  at  last  brought 
surcease  to  his  wounded  spirit.  The  blessed  weariness  of 
exhausted  youth  stole  tenderly  on  him.  His  head  nodded, 
dropped.  Yuba  Bill,  with  a  grim  smile,  drew  him  to  his 
side,  enveloped  him  in  his  blanket,  and  felt  his  head  at  last 
sink  upon  his  own  broad  shoulder. 

A  few  minutes  later  the  coach  drew  up  at  the  "  Summit 
House."  Yuba  Bill  did  not  dismount,  an  unusual  and  dis- 
turbing circumstance  that  brought  the  bar-keeper  to  the 
veranda. 

"  What 's  up,  old  man  ?  " 

"  I  am." 

"  Sworn  off  your  reg'lar  pizen  ?  " 

"  My  physician,"  said  Bill  gravely,  "  hez  ordered  me  dry 
champagne  every  three  hours." 

Nevertheless,  thie  bar-keeper  lingered. 

"  Who  's  that  you  're  dry-nussin'  up  there  ?  " 

I  regret  that  I  may  not  give  Yuba  Bill's  literal  reply.  It 
suggested  a  form  of  inquiry  at  once  distant,  indirect,  out- 
rageous, and  impossible. 

The  bar-keeper  flashed  a  lantern  upon  Jeffs  curls  and 
his  drooping  eyelashes  and  mustaches. 

''  It 's  that  son  o'  Briggs  o'  Tuolumne  —  pooty  boy,  ain't 
he?" 

Bill  disdained  a  reply. 

"  Played  himself  out  down  there,  I  reckon.  Left  his  rifle 
here  in  pawn." 

"  Young  man,"  said  Bill  gravely. 


JEFF   BRIGOS'S   LOVE   STORY  243 

"  Old  man." 

"  Ef  you  're  looking  for  a  safe  investment  ez  will  pay  ye 
better  than  forty-rod  whiskey  at  two  bits  a  glass,  jist  you 
hang  onter  that  ar  rifle.  It  may  make  your  fortin  yet,  or 
save  ye  from  a  drunkard's  grave."  With  this  ungracious 
pleasantry  he  hurried  his  dilatory  passengers  back  into  the 
coach,  cracked  his  whip,  and  was  again  upon  the  road. 
The  lights  of  the  "  Summit  House  "  presently  dropped  here 
and  there  into  the  wasting  shadows  of  the  trees.  Another 
stretch  through  the  close-set  ranks  of  pines,  another  dash 
through  the  opening,  another  whirl  and  rattle  by  overhang- 
ing rocks,  and  the  vehicle  was  swiftly  descending.  Bill  put 
his  foot  on  the  brake,  threw  his  reins  loosely  on  the  necks 
of  his  cattle,  and  looked  leisurely  back.  The  great  moun- 
tain was  slowly  and  steadily  rising  between  them  and  the 
valley  they  quitted. 

And  at  that  same  moment  Miss  Mayfield  had  crept  from 
her  bed,  and,  with  a  shawl  around  her  pretty  little  figure, 
was  pressing  her  eyes  against  a  blank  window  of  the  '•'  Half- 
way House,"  and  wondering  where  he  was  now. 


The  "  opening  "  suggested  by  Bill  was  not  a  fortunate 
one.  Possibly  views  of  business  openings  in  the  public- 
house  line  taken  from  the  tops  of  stage-coaches  are  not  as 
judicious  as  those  taken  from  less  exalted  levels.  Certain 
it  is  that  the  "  good-will "  of  the  "  Lone  Star  House " 
promised  little  more  pecuniary  value  than  a  conventional 
blessing.  It  was  in  an  older  and  more  thickly  settled 
locality  than  the  "  Half-way  House  ;  "  indeed,  it  was  but 
half  a  mile  away  from  Campville,  famous  in  '49  —  a  place 
with  a  history  and  a  disaster.  But  young  communities  are 
impatient  of  settlements  that  through  any  accident  fail  to 
fulfill  the  extravagant  promise  of  their  youth,  and  the 


244  JEFF   BRIGGS'S   LOVE   STORY 

wounded  hamlet  of  Campville  had  crept  into  the  woods 
and  died.  The  "  Lone  Star  House "  was  an  attempt  to 
woo  the  passing  travelers  from  another  point ;  but  its  road 
led  to  Campville,  and  was  already  touched  by  its  dry-rot. 
Bill,  who  honestly  conceived  that  the  infusion  of  fresh  young 
blood  like  Jeffs  into  the  stagnant  current  would  quicken  it, 
had  to  confess  his  disappointment.  "  I  thought  ye  could 
put  some  go  into  the  shanty,  Jeff,"  said  Bill,  "  and  make  it 
lively  and  invitin'  !  "  But  the  lack  of  vitality  was  not  in  the 
landlord,  but  in  the  guests.  The  regular  customers  were 
disappointed,  vacant,  hopeless  men,  who  gathered  listlessly 
on  the  veranda,  and  talked  vaguely  of  the  past.  Their 
hollow-eyed,  feeble  impotency  affected  the  stranger,  even 
as  it  checked  all  ambition  among  themselves.  Do  what 
Jeff  might,  the  habits  of  the  locality  were  stronger  than  his 
individuality ;  the  dead  ghosts  of  the  past  Campville  held 
their  property  by  invisible  mortmain. 

In  the  midst  of  this  struggle  the  "  Half-way  House  "  was 
sold.  •  Spite  of  Bill's  prediction,  the  proceeds  barely  paid 
Jeff's  debts.  Aunt  Sally  prevented  any  troublesome  con- 
sideration of  her  future,  by  applying  a  small  surplus  of 
profit  to  the  expenses  of  a  journey  back  to  her  relatives  in 
Kentucky.  She  wrote  Jeff  a  letter  of  cheerless  instruction, 
reminded  him  of  the  fulfillment  of  her  worst  prophecies  re- 
garding him,  but  begged  him,  in  her  absence,  to  rely  solely 
upon  the  "  Word."  "  For  the  sperrit  killeth,"  she  added 
vaguely.  Whether  this  referred  figuratively  to  Jeff's  busi- 
ness, he  did  not  stop  to  consider.  He  was  more  interested 
in  the  information  that  the  May-fields  had  removed  to  the 
"  Summit  Hotel  "  two  days  after  he  had  left.  "  She  allowed 
it  was  for  her  health's  sake,"  continued  Aunt  Sally,  "  but  I 
reckon  it 's  another  name  for  one  of  them  city  fellers  who 
j'ined  their  party  and  is  keepin'  company  with  her  now. 
They  talk  o'  property  and  stocks  and  sich  worldly  trifles  all 
the  time,  and  it 's  easy  to  see  their  idees  is  set  together.  It 'a 


JEFF   BRIGGS'S   LOVE   STORY  2-5  > 

allowed  at  the  Forks  that  Mr.  Mayfield  paid  Parker's  bill 
for  you.  I  said  it  was  n't  so,  fur  ye  'd  hev  told  me  ;  but  if 
it  is  so,  Jeff,  and  ye  did  n't  tell  me,  it  was  for  only  one  pup- 
pos,  and  that  wos  that  Mayfield  bribed  ye  to  break  off  with 
his  darter  !  That  was  why  you  went  off  so  suddent,  '  like 
a  thief  in  the  night/  and  why  Miss  Mayfield  never  let  on  a 
word  about  you  after  you  left  —  not  even  your  name  !  " 

Jeff  crushed  the  letter  between  his  fingers,  and  going  be- 
hind the  bar,  poured  out  half  a  glass  of  stimulant  and  drank 
it.  It  was  not  the  first  time  since  he  came  to  the  "  Lone 
Star  House  "  that  he  had  found  this  easy  relief  from  his 
present  thought ;  it  was  not  the  first  time  that  he  had  found 
this  dangerous  ally  of  sure  and  swift  service  in  bringing  him 
up  or  down  to  that  level  of  his  dreary,  sodden  guests,  so 
necessary  to  his  trade.  Jeff  had  not  the  excuse  of  the  in- 
born drunkard's  taste.  He  was  impulsive  and  extreme. 
At  the  end  of  the  four  weeks  he  came  out  on  the  porch  one 
night  as  Bill  drew  up.  "  You  must  take  me  from  this  place 
to-night,"  he  said,  in  a  broken  voice  scarce  like  his  own. 
"  When  we  're  on  the  road  we  can  arrange  matters,  but  I 
must  go  to-night." 

"  But  where  ?  "  asked  Bill. 

"  Anywhere  !  Only  I  must  go  from  here.  I  shall  go  if 
I  have  to  walk." 

Bill  looked  hard  at  the  young  man.  His  face  was  flushed, 
his  eyes  blood-shot,  and  his  hands  trembled,  not  with  ex- 
citement, but  with  a  vacant,  purposeless  impotence.  Bill 
looked  a  little  relieved.  "  You  've  been  drinking  too  hard. 
Jeff,  I  thought  better  of  ye  than  that !  " 

"  I  think  better  of  myself  than  that,"  said  Jeff,  with  a 
certain  wild,  half-hysterical  laugh,  "  and  that  is  why  I  want 
to  go.  Don't  be  alarmed,  Bill,"  he  added ;  "  I  have 
strength  enough  to  save  myself,  and  I  shall !  But  it  is  n't 
worth  the  struggle  here." 

He  left  the  "  Lone  Star  House  "  that  night.     He  would, 


246  JEFF   BRIGGS'S   LOVE    STORY 

he  said  to  Bill,  go  on  to  Sacramento,  and  try  to  get  a  situa« 
tion  as  clerk  or  porter  there ;  he  was  too  old  to  learn  a 
trade.  He  said  little  more.  When,  after  forty-eight  hours' 
inability  to  eat,  drink,  or  sleep,  Bill,  looking  at  his  'haggard 
face  and  staring  eyes,  pressed  him  to  partake,  medicinally, 
from  a  certain  black  bottle,  Jeff  gently  put  it  aside,  and 
saying,  with  a  sad  smile,  "  I  can  get  along  without  it;  I  've 
gone  through  more  than  this,"  left  his  mentor  in  a  state  of 
mingled  admiration  and  perplexity. 

At  Sacramento  he  found  a  commercial  "  opening."  But 
certain  habits  of  personal  independence,  combined  with  a 
direct  truthfulness  and  simplicity,  were  not  conducive  to 
business  advancement.  He  was  frank,  and  in  his  habits 
impulsive  and  selfishly  outspoken.  His  employer,  a  good- 
natured  man,  successful  in  his  way,  anxious  to  serve  his  own 
interest  and  Jeffs  equally,  strove  and  labored  with  him, 
but  in  vain.  His  employer's  wife,  a  still  more  good-natured 
woman,  successful  in  her  way,  and  equally  anxious  to  serve 
Jeff's  interests  and  her  own,  also  strove  with  him  as  unsuc- 
cessfully. At  the  end  of  a  month  he  discharged  his  em- 
ployer, after  a  simple,  boyish,  utterly  unbusiness-like  inter- 
view, and  secretly  tore  up  the  wife's  letter.  "  I  don't 
know  what  to  make  of  that  chap,"  said  the  husband  to  his 
wife ;  "  he 's  about  as  civilized  as  an  Injun."  "  And  as 
conceited,"  added  the  lady. 

Howbeit  he  took  his  conceit,  his  sorrows,  his  curls, 
mustaches,  broad  shoulders,  and  fifty  dollars  into  humble 
lodgings  in  a  back  street.  The  days  succeeding  this  were 
'  the  most  restful  he  had  passed  since  he  left  the  "  Half-way 
House."  To  wander  through  the  town,  half  conscious  of 
its  strangeness  and  novel  bustling  life,  and  to  dream  of  a 
higher  and  nobler  future  with  Miss  Mayfield  —  to  feel  no 
responsibility  but  that  of  waiting —  was,  I  regret  to  say,  a 
pleasure  to  him.  He  made  no  acquaintances  except  among 
the  poorer  people  and  the  children.  He  was  sometimes 


JEFF   BRIGGS'S   LOVE   STORY  247 

hungry,  he  was  always  poorly  clad,  but  these  facts  carried 
no  degradation  with  them  now.  He  read  much,  and  in  his 
way  —  Jeff's  way  —  tried  to  improve  his  mind  ;  his  recent- 
commercial  experience  had  shown  him  various  infelicities  in 
his  speech  and  accent.  He  learned  to  correct  certain  pro- 
vincialisms. He  was  conscious  that  Miss  Mayfield  must 
have  noticed  them,  yet  his  odd  irrational  pride  kept  him 
from  ever  regretting  them,  if  they  had  offered  a  possible  ex= 
cuse  for  her  treatment  of  him. 

On  one  of  these  nights  his  steps  chanced  to  lead  him  into 
a  gambling-saloon.  The  place  had  offered  no  temptation  to 
him  ;  his  dealings  with  the  goddess  Chance  had  been  of  less 
active  nature.  Nevertheless  he  placed  his  last  five  dollars 
on  the  turn  of  a  card.  He  won.  He  won  repeatedly  ;  his 
gains  had  reached  a  considerable  sum  when,  flushed,  ex- 
cited, and  absorbed,  he  was  suddenly  conscious  that  he  had 
become  the  centre  of  observation  at  the  table.  Looking  up, 
he  saw  that  the  dealer  had  paused,  and,  with  the  cards  in 
his  motionless  fingers,  was  gazing  at  him  with  fixed  eyes 
and  a  white  face. 

Jeff  rose  and  passed  hurriedly  to  his  side.  "  What 's  the 
matter  ?  " 

The  gambler  shrunk  slightly  as  he  approached.  "  What 's 
your  name  ?  " 

"  Briggs." 

"  God  !  I  knew  it !  How  much  have  you  got  there  ?  "  he 
continued,  in  a  quick  whisper,  pointing  to  Jeff's  winnings. 

"Five  hundred  dollars." 

"  I  '11  give  you  double  if  you  '11  get  up  and  quit  the 
board !  " 

"  Why  ?  "  asked  Jeff  haughtily. 

."Why?"  repeated  the  man  fiercely;  "why?  Well, 
your  father  shot  himself  thar,  where  you  're  sittin',  at  this 
table  ;  "  and  he  added,  with  a  half-forced,  half-hysterical 
laugh,  "  he  's  playirC  at  me  over  your  shoulders  !  " 


248  JEFF   BRIGGS'S   LOVE   STORY 

Jeff  lifted  a  face  as  colorless  as  the  gambler's  own,  went 
back  to  his  seat,  and  placed  his  entire  gains  on  a  single 
.card.  The  gambler  looked  at  him  nervously,  but  dealt. 
There  was  a  pause,  a  slight  movement  where  Jeff  stood,  and 
then  a  simultaneous  cry  from  the  players  as  they  turned 
towards  him.  But  his  seat  was  vacant.  "  Run  after  him ! 
Call  him  back  !  He  's  won  again  !  "  But  he  had  van- 
ished  utterly. 

How  he  left,  or  what  indeed  followed,  he  never  clearly 
remembered.  His  movements  must  have  been  automatic, 
for  when,  two  hours  later,  he  found  himself  at  the 
"  Pioneer  "  coach  office,  with  his  carpet-bag  and  blankets  by 
his  side,  he  could  not  recall  how  or  why  he  had  come  !  He 
had  a  dumb  impression  that  he  had  barely  escaped  some 
dire  calamity,  —  rather  that  he  had  only  temporarily  averted 
it,  —  and  that  he  was  still  in  the  shadow  of  some  impending 
catastrophe  of  destiny.  He  must  go  somewhere,  he  must 
do  something  to  be  saved  !  He  had  no  money,  he  had  no 
friends  ;  even  Yuba'  Bill  had  been  transferred  to  another 
route,  miles  away.  Yet,  in  the  midst  of  this  stupefaction, 
it  was  a  part  of  his  strange  mental  condition  that  trivial  de- 
tails of  Miss  Mayfield  's  face  and  figure,  and  even  apparel, 
were  constantly  before  him,  to  the  exclusion  of  consecutive 
thought.  A  collar  she  used  to  wear,  a  ribbon  she  had  once 
tied  around  her  waist,  a  blue  vein  in  her  dropped  eyelid,  a 
curve  in  her  soft,  full,  bird-like  throat,  the  arch  of  her  in- 
step in  her  small  boots  —  all  these  were  plainer  to  him  thai 
the  future,  or  even  the  present.  But  a  voice  in  his  ear,  a  fig- 
ure before  his  abstracted  eyes,  at  last  broke  upon  his  reverie. 

"  Jeff  Briggs  !  " 

Jeff  mechanically  took  the  outstretched  hand  of  a  young 
clerk  of  the  Pioneer  Coach  Company,  who  had  once 
accompanied  Yuba  Bill  and  stopped  at  the  "  Half-way 
House."  He  endeavored  to  collect  his  thoughts;  here 
seemed  to  be  an  opportunity  to  go  somewhere ! 


JEFF   BRIGGS'S   LOVE   STORY  249 

"What  are  you  doing  now?"  said  the  young  man 
briskly. 

"  Nothing,"  said  Jeff  simply. 

"  Oh,  I  see  —  going  home  !  " 

Home  !  the  word  stung  sharply  through  Jeff's  benumbed 
consciousness. 

"  No,"  he  stammered,  "  that  is  "  — 

"  Look  here,  Jeff,"  broke  in  the  young  man,  "  I  've  got 
a  chance  for  you  that  don't  fall  in  a  man's  way  every  day. 
Wells,  Fargo  &  Co.'s  treasure  messenger  from  Robinson's 
Ferry  to  Mempheys  has  slipped  out.  The  place  is  vacant. 
I  reckon  I  can  get  it  for  you." 

"  When  ?  " 

«  Now  —  to-night." 

"  I  'm  ready." 

"  Come,  then." 

In  ten  minutes  they  were  in  the  company's  office,  where 
its  manager,  a  man  famous  in  those  days  for  his  boldness 
and  shrewdness,  still  lingered  in  tire  dispatch  of  business. 

The  young  clerk  briefly  but  deferentially  stated  certain 
facts.  A  few  questions  and  answers  followed,  of  which  Jeff 
heard  only  the  words  "  Tuolumne  "  and  "  Yuba  Bill." 

"  Sit  down,  Mr.  Briggs.     Good-night,  Roberts." 

The  young  clerk,  with  an  encouraging  smile  to  Jeff,  bowed 
himself  out  as  the  manager  seated  himself  at  his  desk  and 
began  to  write. 

"  You  know  the  country  pretty  well  between  the  Fork 
and  the  Summit,  Mr.  Briggs  ?  "  he  said,  without  looking  up. 

"  I  lived  there,"  said  Jeff. 

"  That  was  some  months  ago,  was  n't  it  ?  " 

"  Six  months,"  said  Jeff,  with  a  sigh. 

"  It 's  changed  for  the  worse  since  your  house  was  shut 
up.  There 's  a  long  stretch  of  unsettled  country  infested 
by  bad  characters." 

Jeff  sat  silent. 


250  JEFF   BRIGGS'S   LOVE   STORY 

"Brrggs." 

"Sir?" 

"  The  last  man  but  one  who  preceded  you  was  shot  by 
road  agents."  1 

"  Yes,  sir." 

"We  lost  sixty  thousand  dollars  up  there.". 

"  Yes  ?  " 

"Your  father  was  Briggs  of  Tuolumne  ?  " 
.    "  Yes,  sir."    Jeff's  head  dropped,  but,  glancing  shyly  up, 
he  saw  a  pleasant  smile  on  his  questioner's  face.     He  was 
still  writing  rapidly,  but  was  apparently  enjoying  at  the 
same  time  some  pleasant  recollection. 

"  Your  father  and  I  lost  nearly  sixty  thousand  dollars  toge- 
ther one  night,  ten  years  ago,  when  we  were  both  younger." 

"  Yes,  sir,"  said  Jeff  dubiously. 

"  But  it  was  our  own  money,  Jeff." 

"  Yes,  sir." 

"  Here  's  your  appointment,"  he  said  briefly,  throwing 
away  his  pen,  folding  what  he  had  written,  and  handing  it 
to  Jeff.  It  was  the  first  time  that  he  had  looked  at  him 
since  he  entered.  He  now  held  out  his  hand,  grasped 
Jeffs,  and  said,  "  Good-night ! " 

VI 

It  was  late  the  next  evening  when  Jeff  drew  up  at  the 
coach  office  at  Robinson's  Ferry,  where  he  was  to  await 
the  coming  of  the  Summit  coach.  His  mind,  lifted  only 
temporarily  out  of  its  benumbed  condition  during  his  in- 
terview with  the  manager,  again  fell  back  into  its  dull 
abstraction.  Fully  embarked  upon  his  dangerous  journey, 
accepting  all  the  meaning  of  the  trust  imposed  upon  him, 
he  was  yet  vaguely  conscious  that  he  did  not  realize  its  full 
importance.  He  had  neither  the  dread  nor  the  stimulation 
1  Highway  robbers. 


JEFF   BRIGGS'S   LOVE   STORY  2ol 

of  coming  danger.  He  had  faced  death  before  in  the  boyish 
confidence  of  animal  spirits  ;  his  pulse  now  was  scarcely 
stirred  with  anticipation.  Once  or  twice  before,  in  the 
extravagance  of  his  passion,  he  had  imagined  himself  res- 
cuing Miss  Mayfield  from  danger,  or  even  dying  for  her. 
During  his  journey  his  mind  had  dwelt  fully  and  minutely 
on  every  detail  of  their  brief  acquaintance  ;  she  was  con- 
tinually before  him,  the  tones  of  her  voice  were  in  his  ears, 
the  suggestive  touch  of  her  fingers,  the  thrill  that  his  lips 
had  felt  when  he  kissed  them  —  all  were  with  him  now, 
but  only  as  a  memory.  In  his  coming  fate,  in  his  future 
life,  he  saw  her  not.  He  believed  it  was  a  premonition  of 
coming  death. 

He  made  a  few  preparations.  The  company's  agent  had 
told  him  that  the  treasure,  letters,  and  dispatches,  which 
had  accumulated  to  a  considerable  amount,  would  be 
handed  to  him  on  the  box ;  and  that  the  arms  and  ammu- 
nition were  in  the  boot.  A  less  courageous  and  determined 
man  might  have  been  affected  by  the  cold,  practical  brutal- 
ity of  certain  advice  and  instructions  offered  him  by  the 
agent,  but  Jeff  recognized  this  compliment  to  his  determina- 
tion, even  before  the  agent  concluded  his  speech  by  saying, 
"  But  I  reckon  they  knew  what  they  were  about  in  the 
lower  office  when  they  sent  you  up.  I  dare  say  you  kin 
give  me  p'ints,  ef  ye  cared  to,  for  all  ye  're  soft  spoken. 
There  are  only  four  passengers  booked  through ;  we  hev 
to  be  a  little  partikler,  suspectin'  spies !  Two  of  the  four 
ye  kin  depend  upon  to  get  the  top  o'  their  d — d  heads 
blowed  off  the  first  fire,"  he  added  grimly. 

At  ten  o'clock  the  Summit  coach  flashed,  rattled,  glit- 
tered, and  snapped,  like  a  disorganized  firework,  up  to  the 
door  of  the  company's  office.  A  familiar  figure,  but  more 
than  usually  truculent  and  aggressive,  slowly  descended 
with  violent  oaths  from  the  box.  Without  seeing  Jeff,  it 
strode  into  the  office. 


252  JEFF  BRIGGS'S   LOVE   STORY 

"Now  then,"  said  Yuba  Bill,  addressing  the  agent, 
"whar's  that  God-forsaken  fool  that  Wells,  Fargo  &  Co. 
hev  sent  up  yar  to  take  charge  o'  their  treasure  ?  Because 
I  'd  like  to  introduce  him  to  the  champion  idgit  of  Cala- 
\  eras  County,  that 's  been  selected  to  go  to  h — 11  with  him  •, 
and  that 's  me  Yuba  Bill  !  P'int  him  out.  Don't  keep 
me  waitin'  !  " 

The  agent  grinned  and  pointed  to  Jeff. 

Both  men  recoiled  in  astonishment.  Yuba  Bill  was  the 
first  to  recover  his  speech. 

"  It 's  a  lie  !  "  he  roared ;  ".or  somebody  has  been  putting 
up  a  job  on  ye,  Jeff !  Because  I  've  been  twenty  years  in 
the  service,  and  am  such  a  nat'ral  born  mule  that  when  the 
company  strokes  my  back  and  sez,  '  You  're  the  on'y  mule 
we  kin  trust,  BiU,'  I  starts  up  and  goes  out  as  a  blasted 
wooden  figgerhead  for  road  agents  to  lay  fur  and  practice 
on,  it  don't  follow  that  you  've  any  call  to  go." 

"  It  was  my  own  seeking,  Bill,"  said  Jeff,  with  one  of 
his  old,  sweet,  boyish  smiles.  "  I  did  n't  know  you  were 
to  drive.  But  you  're  not  going  back  on  me  now,  Bill, 
are  you  ?  you're  not  going  to  send  me  off  with  another 
volunteer  ?  " 

"  That  be  d — d !  "  growled  Bill.  Nevertheless,  for  ten 
minutes  he  reviled  the  Pioneer  Coach  Company  with 
picturesque  imprecation,  tendered  his  resignation  repeatedly 
to  the  agent,  and  at  •  the  end  of  that  time,  as  everybody 
expected,  mounted  the  box,  and  with  a  final  malediction, 
involving  the  whole  settlement,  was  off. 

On  the  road,  Jeff,  in  a  few  hurried  sentences,  told  his 
story.  Bill  scarcely  seemed  to  listen.  "  Look  yar,  Jeff," 
he  said  suddenly. 

"  Yes,  Bill." 

"  If  the  worst  happens,  and  ye  go  under,  you  '11  tell  your 
father,  if  I  don't  happen  to  see  him  first,  it  was  n't  no  job 
of  mine,  and  I  did  my  best  to  get  ye  out  of  it." 


JEFF   BRIGGS'S   LOVE   STORY  253 

"Yes,"  said  Jeff,  in  a  faint  voice. 

"  It  may  n't  be  so  bad,"  said  Bill,  softening ;  "  they  know, 
d — n  'em,  we  've  got  a  pile  aboard,  ez  well  as  if  they  seed 
that  agent  gin  it  ye,  but  they  also  know  we  've  pre-pared !  " 

"  I  was  n't  thinking  of  that,  Bill ;  I  was  thinking  of  my 
father."  And  he  told  Bill  of  the  gambling  episode  at 
Sacramento. 

"  D'  ye  mean  to  say  ye  left  them  hounds  with  a  thousand 
dollars  of  yer  hard-earned  " 

"  Gambling  gains,  Bill,"  interrupted  Jeff  quietly. 

"  Exactly  !  Well !  "  Bill  subsided  into  an  incoherent 
growl.  After  a  few  moments'  pause,  he  began  again. 
"  Yer  ready  as  ye  used  to  be  with  a  six-shooter,  Jeff,  time  's 
when  ye  was  a  boy,  and  I  uster  chuck  half-dollars  in  the 
air  fur  ye  to  make  warts  on  ?  " 

"  I  reckon,"  said  Jeff,  with  a  faint  smile. 

"  Thar 's  two  p'ints  on  the  road  to.  be  looked  to :  the 
woods  beyond  the  blacksmith's  shop  that  uster  be  ;  the 
fringe  of  alder  and  buckeye  by  the  crossing  below  your 
house  —  p'ints  where  they  kin  fetch  you  without  a  show. 
Thar 's  two  ways  o'  meetin'  them  thar.  One  way  ez  to  pull 
up  and  trust  to  luck  and  brag.  The  other  way  is  to  whip 
up  and  yell,  and  send  the  whole  six  kiting  by  like  h — 11 !  " 

"  Yes,"  said  Jeff. 

"  The  only  drawback  to  that  plan  is  this :  the  road  lies 
along  the  edge  of  a  precipice,  straight  down  a  thousand 
feet  into  the  river.  Ef  these  devils  get  a  shot  into  any 
one  o'  the  six  and  it  drops,  the  coach  turns  sharp  off,  and 
down  we  go,  the  whole  kerboodle  of  us,  plump  into  the 
Stanislaus  !  " 

"  And  they  don't  get  the  money"  said  Jeff  quietly. 

"  Well,  no  !  "  replied  Yuba  Bill,  staring  at  Jeff,  whose 
face  was  set  as  a  flint  against  the  darkness.  "  I  should 
reckon  not."  He  then  drew  a  long  breath,  glanced  at 
Jeff  again,  and  said  between  his  teeth,  "  Well,  I  'm  d — d ! " 


254  JEFF   BRIGGS'S   LOVE   STORY 

At  the  next  station  they  changed  horses,  Bill  personally 
supervising,  especially  as  regarded  the  welfare  and  proper 
condition  of  Blue  Grass,  who  here  was  brought  out  as  a 
leader.  Formerly  there  was  no  change  of  horses  at  this 
station,  and  this  novelty  excited  Jeffs  remark.  "  These 
yar  chaps  say  thar  's  no  station  at  the  Summit  now," 
growled  Bill,  in  explanation  ;  "  the  hotel  is  closed,  and  it 's 
all  private  property,  bought  by  some  chap  from  'Frisco. 
Thar  ought  to  be  a  law  agin  such  doin's !  " 

This  suggested  obliteration  of  the  last  traces  of  Miss 
Mayfield  seemed  to  Jeff  as  only  a  corroboration  of  his  pre- 
monition. He  should  never  hear  from  her  again  !  Yet  to 
have  stood  under  the  roof  that  last  sheltered  her ;  to,  per- 
chance, have  met  some  one  who  had  seen  her  later  —  this 
was  a  fancy  that  had  haunted  him  on  his  journey.  It  was 
all  over  now.  Perhaps  it  was  for  the  best. 

With  the  sinking  behind  of  the  lights  of  the  station,  the 
occupants  of  the  coach  knew  that  the  dangerous  part  of  the 
journey  had  begun.  The  two  guards  in  the  coach  had 
already  made  obtrusive  and  war-like  preparations,  to  the  ill- 
concealed  disgust  of  Yuba  Bill.  "  I  'd  hev  been  willin'  to 
get  through  this  yar  job  without  the  burnin'  of  powder,  but 
ef  any  of  them  devils  ez  is  waitin'  for  us  would  be  content 
with  a  shot  at  them  fancy  policemen  inside,  I'd  pull  up  and 
give  'em  a  show  !  "  Having  relieved  his  mind,  Bill  said  no 
more,  and  the  two  men  relapsed  into  silence.  The  moon 
shone  brightly  and  peacefully,  a  fact  pointed  out  by  Bill 
as  unfavorably  deepening  the  shadows  of  the  woods,  and 
bringing  the  coach  and  the  road  into  greater  relief. 

An  hour  passed.  What  were  Yuba  Bill's  thoughts  are 
not  a  part  of  this  history ;  that  they  were  turbulent  and 
aggressive  might  be  inferred  from  the  occasional  growls  and 
interjected  oaths  that  broke  from  his  lips.  But  Jeff,  strange 
anomaly,  due  perhaps  to  youth  and  moonlight,  was  wrapped 
in  a  sensuous  dream  of  Miss  Mayfield,  of  the  scent  of  her 


JEFF   BRIGGS'S  LOVE    STORY  255 

dark  hair  as  he  had  drawn  her  to  his  side,  of  the  outlines  of 
her  sweet  form,  that  had  for  a  moment  lightly  touched  his 
own  —  of  anything,  I  fear,  but  the  death  he  believed  he  was 
hastening  to.  But  — 

"  Jeff,"  said  Bill,  in  an  unmistakable  tone. 

"  Yes,"  said  Jeff. 

"  That  ar  clump  o'  buckeye  on  the  ridge  !  Ready  there !  " 
(Leaning  over  the  box,  to  the  guards  within.)  A  responsive 
rustle  in  the  coach,  which  now  bounded  forward  as  if  in- 
stinct with  life  and  intelligence. 

"  Jeff,"  said  Bill,  in  an  odd,  altered  voice,  "  take  the  lines 
aminit."  Jeff  took  them.  Bill  stooped  towards  the  boot. 
A  peaceful  moment !  A  peaceful  outlook  from  the  coach  ; 
the  white  moonlit  road  stretching  to  the  ridge,  no  noise  but 
the  steady  gallop  of  the  horses  ! 

Then  a  yellow  flash,  breaking  from  the  darkness  of  the 
buckeye;  a  crack  like  the  snap  of  a  whip;  Yuba  Bill 
steadying  himself  for  a  moment,  and  then  dropping  at  Jeff's 
feet! 

"  They  got  me,  Jeff !  But  —  /  drawed  their  fire  ! 
Don't  drop  the  lines  !  Don't  speak  !  For  —  they  —  think 
I  'm  you  and  you  me  !  " 

The  flash  had  illuminated  Jeff  as  to  the  danger,  as  to 
Bill's  sacrifice,  but  above  all,  and  overwhelming  all,  to  a 
thrilling  sense  of  his  own  power  and  ability. 

Yet  he  sat  like  a  statue.  Six  masked  figures  had  appeared 
from  the  very  ground,  clinging  to  the  bits  of  the  horses. 
The  coach  stopped.  Two  wild  purposeless  shots  —  the  first 
and  last  fired  by  the  guards  —  were  answered  by  the  muzzle 
of  six  rifles  pointed  into  the  windows.,  and  the  passengers 
foolishly  and  impotently  filed  out  into  the  road. 

"  Now,  Bill,"  said  a  voice,  which  Jeff  instantly  recognized 
as  the  blacksmith's,  "  we  won't  keep  ye  long.  So  hand 
down  the  treasure." 

The  man's  foot  was  on  the  wheel ;  in  another  instant 


256  JEFF   BRIGGS'S   LOVE   STORY 

he  would  be  beside  Jeff,  and  discovery  was  certain.  Jeff 
leaned  over  and  unhooked  the  'coach  lamp,  as  if  to  assist 
him  with  its  light.  As  if  in  turning,  he  stumbled,  broke 
the  lamp,  ignited  the  kerosene,  and  scattered  the  wick  and 
blazing  fluid  over  the  haunches  of  the  wheelers !  The 
maddened  animals  gave  one  wild  plunge  forwards,  the  coach 
followed  twice  its  length,  throwing  the  blacksmith  under  its 
wheels,  and  driving  the  other  horses  towards  the  bank. 
But  as  the  lamp  broke  in  Jeff's  right  hand,  his  practiced 
left  hand  discharged  its  hidden  Derringer  at  the  head  of  the 
robber  who  had  held  the  bit  of  Blue  Grass,  and,  throwing 
the  useless  weapon  away,  he  laid  the  whip  smartly  on  her 
back.  She  leaped  forward  madly,  dragging  the  other 
leaders  with  her,  and  in  the  next  moment  they  were  free 
and  wildly  careering  down  the  grade. 

A  dozen  shots  followed  them.  The  men  were  protected 
by  the  coach,  but  Yuba  Bill  groaned. 

"  Are  you  hit  again  ?  "  asked  Jeff  hastily.  He  had  for- 
gotten his  saviour. 

"  No ;  but  the  horses  are  !  I  felt  'em  !  Look  at  'em, 
Jeff." 

Jeff  had  gathered  up  the  almost  useless  reins.  The 
horses  were  running  away ;  but  Blue  Grass  was  limping. 

"  For  God  's  sake,"  said  Bill,  desperately  dragging  his 
wounded  figure  above  the  dash-board,  "  keep  her  up  ! 
Lift  her  up,  Jeff,  till  we  pass  the  curve.  Don't  let  her 
drop,  or  we  're  "  — 

"  Can  you  hold  the  reins  ?  "  said  Jeff  quickly. 

"  Give  'em  here  !  " 

Jeff  passed  them .  to  the  wounded  man.  Then,  with  his 
bowie-knife  between  his  teeth,  he  leaped  over  the  dash-board 
on  the  backs  of  the  wheelers.  He  extinguished  the  blazing 
drops  that  the  wind  had  not  blown  out  on  their  smarting 
haunches,  and  with  the  skill  and  instinct  of  a  Mexican 
vaquero,  made  his  way  over  their  turbulent  tossing  backs  ta 


JEFF   BRIGGS'S   LOVE   STORY  257 

Blue  Grass,  cut  her  traces  and  reins,  and  as  the  vehicle 
neared  the  curve,  with  a  sharp  lash,  drove  her  to  the  bank, 
where  she  sank  even  as  the  coach  darted  by.  Bill  uttered 
a  feeble  "  Hurrah  !  "  but  at  the  same  moment  the  reins 
dropped  from  his  fingers,  and  he  sank  at  the  bottom  of  the 
boot. 

Riding  postilion-wise,  Jeff  could  control  the  horses.  The 
dangerous  curve  was  passed,  but  not  the  possibility  of  pur- 
suit. The  single  leader  he  was  bestriding  was  panting  — 
more  than  that,  he  was  sweating,  and  from  the  evidence  of 
Jeff's  hands,  sweating  blood!  Back  of  his  shoulder  was  a 
jagged  hole,  from  which  his  life-blood  was  welling.  The 
off-wheel  horse  was  limping  too.  That  last  volley  was  no 
foolish  outburst  of  useless  rage,  but  was  deliberate  and  pre- 
meditated skill.  Jeff  drew  the  reins,  and  as  the  coach 
stopped,  the  horse  he  was  riding  fell  dead.  Into  the  silence 
that  followed  broke  the  measured  beat  of  horses'  hoofs  oa 
the  road  above.  He  was  pursued  ! 

To  select  the  best  horse  of  the  remaining  unscathed 
three,  to  break  open  the  boot  and  place  the  treasure  on  his 
back,  and  to  abandon  and  leave  the  senseless  Bill  lying 
there,  was  the  unhesitating  work  of  a  moment.  Great 
heroes  and  great  lovers  are  invariably  one-ideaed  men,  and 
Jeff  was  at  that  moment  both. 

Eighty  thousand  dollars  in  gold-dust  and  Jeffs  weight 
was  a  handicap.  Nevertheless  he  flew  forward  like  the 
wind.  Presently  he  fell  to  listening.  A  certain  hoof-beat 
in  the  rear  was  growing  more  distinct.  A  bitter  thought 
flashed  through  his  mind.  He  looked  back.  Over  the 
hill  appeared  the  foremost  of  his  pursuers.  It  was  the 
blacksmith,  mounted  on  the  fleetest  horse  in  the  county  — 
Jeffs  own  horse  —  Rabbit ! 

But  there  are  compensations  in  all  new  trials.  As  Jeff 
faced  round  again,  he  saw  he  had  reached  the  open  table- 
land, and  the  bleak  walls  and  ghastly,  untenanted  windows 


258  JEFF   BRIGGS'S   LOVE   STORY 

of  the  "  Half-way  House  "  rose  before  him  in  the  distance 
Jeff  was  master  of  the  ground  here  !  He  was  entering  the 
shadow  of  the  woods  —  Miss  Mayfield's  woods !  and  there 
was  a  put  off  from  the  road,  and  a  bridle-path,  known  only 
to  himself,  hard  by.  To  find  it,  leap  the  roadside  ditch, 
dash  through  the  thicket,  and  rein  up  by  the  road  again} 
was  swiftly  done. 

Take  a  gentle  woman,  betray  her  trust,  outrage  her  best 
feelings,  drive  her  into  a  corner,  and  you  have  a  fury  ! 
Take  a  gentle,  trustful  man,  abuse  him,  show  him  the  folly 
of  this  gentleness  and  kindness,  prove  to  him  that  it  is 
weakness,  drive  him  into  a  corner,  and  you  have  a  savage  ! 
And  it  was  this  savage,  with  an  Indian's  memory,  and  an 
Indian's  eye  and  ear,  that  suddenly  confronted  the  black- 
smith. 

What  more !  A  single  shot  from  a  trained  hand  and 
one-ideaed  intellect  settled  the  blacksmith's  business,  and 
temporarily  ended  this  Iliad  !  I  say  temporarily,  for  Mr. 
Dodd,  formerly  deputy-sheriff,  prudently  pulled  up  at  the 
top  of  the  hill,  and  observing  his  principal  bend  his  head 
forwards  and  act  like  a  drunken  man,  until  he  reeled,  limp 
and  sideways,  from  the  saddle,  and  noticing  further  that 
Jeff  took  his  place  with  a  well-filled  saddle-bag,  concluded 
to  follow  cautiously  and  unobtrusively  in  the  rear. 

vn 

But  Jeff  saw  him  not.  With  mind  and  will  bent  on  one 
object  —  to  reach  the  first  habitation,  the  "  Summit,"  and 
send  back  help  and  assistance  to  his  wounded  comrade  — 
he  urged  Rabbit  forward.  The  mare  knew  her  rider,  but 
he  had  no  time  for  caresses.  Through  the  smarting  of  his 
hands  he  had  only  just  noticed  that  they  were  badly 
burned,  and  the  skin  was  peeling  from  them  ;  he  had  con- 
founded the  blood  that  was  flowing  from  a  cut  on  his  scalp, 


JEFF   BRIGGS'S   LOVE   STORY  259 

with  that  from  the  wounded  horse.  It  was  one  hour  yet 
to  the  "  Summit,"  hut  the  road  was  good,  the  moon  was 
bright,  he  knew  what  Rabbit  could  do,  and  it  was  not  yet 
ten  o'clock. 

As  the  white  outbuildings  and  irregular  outlines  of  the 
"  Summit  House  "  began  to  be  visible,  Jeff  felt  a  singular 
return  of  his  former  dreamy  abstraction.  The  hour  of  peril, 
anger,  and  excitement  he  had  just  passed  through  seemed 
something  of  years  ago,  or  rather  to  be  obliterated  with  all 
else  that  had  passed  since  he  had  looked  upon  that  scene. 
Yet  it  was  all  changed  —  strangely  changed  !  What  Jeff 
had  taken  for  the  white,  wooden  barns  and  outhouses  were 
greenhouses  and  conservatories.  The  "Summit  Hotel" 
was  a  picturesque  villa,  nestling  in  the  self-same  trees,  but 
approached  through  cultivated  fields,  dwellings  of  laborers, 
parklike  gates  and  walls,  and  all  the  bountiful  appointments 
of  wealth  and  security.  Jeff  thought  of  Yuba  Bill's  male- 
diction, -and  understood  it  as  he  gazed. 

The  barking  of  dogs  announced  his  near  approach  to  the 
principal  entrance.  Lights  were  still  burning  in  the  upper 
windows  of  the  house  and  its  offices.  He  was  at  once 
surrounded  by  the  strange  medley  of  a  Californian  ran- 
chero's  service,  peons,  Chinese,  and  vaqueros.  Jeff  briefly 
stated  his  business.  "  Ah,  Carrajo  !  "  This  was  a  matter 
for  the  major-domo,  or,  better,  the  padrone  — Wilson  !  But 
the  padrone,  WTilson,  called  out  by  the  tumult,  appeared  in 
person  —  a  handsome,  resolute,  middle-aged  man,  who,  in 
a  twinkling,  dispersed  the  group  to  barn  and  stable  with  a 
dozen  orders  of  preparation,  and  then  turned  to  Jeff. 

"  You  are  hurt ;  come  in." 

Jeff  followed  him  dazedly  into  the  house.  The  same 
sense  of  remote  abstraction,  of  vague  dreaminess,  was  over- 
coming him.  He  resented  it,  and  fought  against  it,  but  in 
vain ;  he  was  only  half  conscious  that  his  host  had  bathed 
his  head  and  given  him  some  slight  restorative,  had  said 


260  JEFF  BRIGGS'S   LOVE   STORY 

something  to  him  soothingly,  and  had  left  him.  Jeff 
wondered  if  he  had  fainted,  or  was  about  to  faint,  —  he  had 
a  nervous  dread  of  that  womanish  weakness,  —  or  if  he  were 
really  hurt  worse  than  he  believed.  He  tried  to  master 
himself  and  grasp  the  situation  by  minutely  examining  the 
room.  It  was  luxuriously  furnished ;  Jeff  had  but  once 
before  sat  in  such  an  arm-chair  as  the  one  that  half  em- 
braced him,  and  as  a  boy  he  had  dim  recollections  of  a  life 
like  this,  of  which  his  father  was  part.  To  poor  Jeff,  with 
his  throbbing  head,  his  smarting  hands,  and  his  lapsing 
moments  of  half  forgetfulness,  this  seemed  to  be  a  return 
of  his  old  premonition.  There  was  a  vague  perfume  in  the 
room,  like  that  which  he  remembered  when  he  was  in  the 
woods  with  Miss  Mayfield.  He  believed  he  was  growing 
faint  again,  and  was  about  to  rise,  when  the  door  opened 
behind  him. 

"  Is  there  anything  we  can  do  for  you  ?  Mr.  Wilson 
has  gone  to  seek  your  friend,  and  has  sent  Manuel  for  a 
doctor." 

Her  voice  !  He  rose  hurriedly,  turned ;  she  was  stand- 
ing in  the  doorway  J 

She  uttered  a  slight  cry,  turned  very  pale,  advanced  to- 
wards him,  stopped  and  leaned  against  the  chimney-piece. 

"  I  did  n't  know  it  was  you." 

With  her  actual  presence  Jeffs  dream  and  weakness 
fled.  He  rose  up  before  her,  his  old  bashful,  stammering, 
awkward  self. 

"  /  did  n't  know  you  lived  here,  Miss  Mayfield." 

"  If  you  had  sent  word  you  were  coming,"  said  Miss 
Mayfield,  recovering  her  color  brightly  in  one  cheek. 

The  possibility  of  having  sent  a  messenger  in  advance 
to  advise  Miss  Mayfield  of  his  projected  visit  did  not  strike 
Jeff  as  ridiculous.  Your  true  lover  is  far  beyond  such 
trivialities.  He  accepted  the  rebuke  meekly.  He  said  he 
was  sorry. 


JEFF   BRIGGS'S   LOVE   STORY  261 

"  You  might  have  known  it." 

"  What,  Miss  Mayfield  ?  "    . 

"  That  I  was  here,  if  you  ivished  to  know." 

Jeff  did  not  reply.  He  bowed  his  head  and  clasped  his 
burned  hands  together.  Miss  Mayfield  saw  their  raw  sur- 
faces, saw  the  ugly  cut  on  his  head,  pitied  him,  but  went 
on  hastily,  with  both  cheeks  burning,  to  say,  womanlike, 
what  was  then  deepest  in  her  heart. 

"  My  brother-in-law  told  me  your  adventure ;  but  I  did 
not  know  until  I  entered  this  room  that  the  gentleman  I 
wished  to  help  was  one  who  had  once  rejected  my  assist- 
ance, who  had  misunderstood  me,  and  cruelly  insulted  me  ! 
Oh,  forgive  me,  Mr.  Briggs  "  (Jeff  had  risen).  "  I  did  not 
mean  that.  But,  Mr.  Jeff —  Jeff — oh  !  "  (She  had  caught 
his  tortured  hand  and  had  wrung  a  movement  of  pain  from 
him.)  "  Oh,  dear !  what  did  I  do  now  ?  But,  Mr.  Jeff, 
after  what  had  passed,  after  what  you  said  to  me  when  you 
went  away,  when  you  were  at  that  dreadful  place,  Camp- 
ville,  when  you  were  two  months  in  Sacramento,  you  might 
—  you  ought  to  have  let  me  know  it !  " 

Jeff  turned.  Her  face,  more  beautiful  than  he  had  ever 
seen  it,  alive  and  eloquent  with  every  thought  that  her 
woman's  speech  but  half  expressed,  was  very  near  his  —  so 
near,  that  under  her  honest  eyes  the  wretched  scales  fell  from 
his  own,  his  self-wrought  shackles  crumbled  away,  and  he 
dropped  upon  his  knees  at  her  feet  as  she  sank  into  the  chair 
he  had  quitted.  Both  his  hands  were  grasped  in  her  own. 

"  You  went  away,  and  I  stayed"  she  said  reflectively. 

"  I  had  no  home,  Miss  Mayfield." 

"  Nor  had  I.  I  had  to  buy  this,"  she  said,  with  delicious 
simplicity ;  "  and  bring  a  family  here  too,"  she  added,  "  in 
case  you  "  —  she  stopped,  with  a  slight  color. 

"  Forgive  me,"  said  Jeff,  burying  his  face  in  her  hands, 

«  Jeff." 

"  Jessie." 


262  JEFF   BRIGGS'S   LOVE   STORY 

"Don't  you  think  you  were  a  little — just  a  little — • 
mean  ?  " 

"Yes." 

Miss  Mayfield  uttered  a  faint  sigh.  He  looked  into  her 
anxious  cheeks  and  eyes,  his  arm  stole  round  her ;  their 
lips  met  for  the  first  time  in  one  long  lingering  kiss.  Then, 
I  fear,  for  the  second  time. 

"  Jeff,"  said  Miss  Mayfield,  suddenly  becoming  practical 
and  sweetly  possessory,  "  you  must  have  your  hands  bound 
up  in  cotton." 

"Yes,"  said  Jeff  cheerfully. 

"  And  you  must  go  instantly  to  bed." 

Jeff  stared. 

"  Because  my  sister  will  think  it  very  late  for  me  to  be 
sitting  up  with  a  gentleman." 

The  idea  that  Miss  Mayfield  was  responsible  to  anybody 
was  something  new  to  Jeff.  But  he  said  hastily,  "  I  must 
stay  and  wait  for  Bill.  He  risked  his  life  for  me." 

"  Oh  yes  !  You  must  tell  me  all  about  it.  I  may  wait 
for  that." 

Jeff  possessed  himself  of  the  chair  ;  in  some  way  he  also 
possessed  himself  of  Miss  Mayfield  without  entirely  dispos- 
sessing her.  Then  he  told  his  story.  He  hesitated  over 
the  episode  of  the  blacksmith.  "  I  'm  afraid  I  killed  him, 
Jessie." 

Miss  Mayfield  betra3red  little  concern  at  this  possible  ex- 
treme measure  with  a  dangerous  neighbor.  "He  cut  your 
head,  Jeff,"  she  said,  passing  her  little  hand  through  his 
curls. 

"  No,"  said  Jeff  hastily  "  that  must  have  been  done 
before." 

"  Well,"  said  Miss  Mayfield  conclusively,  "  he  would 
if  he  'd  dared.  And  you  brought  off  that  wretched  money 
in  spite  of  him.  Poor  dear  Jeff!  " 

"  Yes,"  said  Jeff,  kissing  her. 


JEFF  BRIGGS'S   LOVE   STORY  263 

"  Where  is  it  ?  "  asked  Jessie,  looking  round  the  room. 

"  Oh,  just  out  there  !  " 

"  Out  where  ?  " 

"On  my  horse,  you  know,  outside  the  door,"  continued 
Jeff,  a  little  uneasily,  as  he  rose.  "  I'll  go  and  "  — 

"You  careless  boy,"  said  Miss  Mayfield,  jumping  up, 
"  I'll  go  with  you." 

They  passed  out  on  the  porch  together,  holding  each 
other's  hands,  like  children.  The  forgotten  Rabbit  was  not 
there.  Miss  May  field  called  a  vaquero. 

"  Ah,  yes  !  —  the  caballero's  horse.  Of  a  certainty  the 
other  caballero  had  taken  it !  " 

"  The  other  caballero  !  "  gasped  Jeff. 

"  Si,  senor.  The  one  who  arrived  with  you,  or  a  moment, 
the  very  next  moment,  after  you.  '  Your  friend,'  he  said." 

Jeff  staggered  against  the  porch,  and  cast  one  despairing 
reproachful  look  at  Miss  Mayfield. 

"  Oh,  Jeff!  Jeff!  don't  look  so !  I  know  I  ought  not  to 
have  kept  you !  It  's  a  mistake,  Jeff,  believe  me." 

"  It 's  no  mistake,"  said  Jeff  hoarsely.  "  Go  !  "  he  said, 
turning  to  the  vaquero,  "  go  !  —  bring  " —  But  his  speech 
failed.  He  attempted  to  gesticulate  with  his  hands,  ran  for- 
ward a  few  steps,  staggered,  and  fell  fainting  on  the  ground. 

"  Help  me  with  the  caballero  into  the  blue  room,"  said 
Miss  Mayfield,  white  as  Jeff.  "  And  hark  ye,  Manuel ! 
You  know  every  ruffian,  man  or  woman,  on  this  road. 
That  hors,e  and  those  saddle-bags  must  be  here  to-morrow, 
if  you  have  to  pay  double  what  they  're  worth  !  " 

"  Si,  seiiora." 

Jeff  went  off  into  fever,  into  delirium,  into  helpless  stupor. 
From  time  to  time  he  moaned  "  Bill  "  and  "  the  treasure." 
On  the  third  day,  in  a  lucid  interval,  as  he  lay  staring  at 
the  wall,  Miss  Mayfield  put  in  his  hand  a  letter  from  the 
company,  acknowledging  the  receipt  of  the  treasure,  thank- 
ing him  for  his  zeal,  and  inclosing  a  handsome  check. 


264  JEFF   BRIGGS'S   LOVE   STORY 

Jeff  sat  up,  and  put  his  hands  to  his  head. 

"  I  told  you  it  was  taken  by  mistake,  and  was  easily 
found,"  said  Miss  Mayfield,  "  did  n't  I  ?  " 

"Yes,  — and  Bill?" 

"  You  know  he  is  so  much  better  that  he  expects  to 
leave  us  next  week." 

"  And  —  Jessie !  " 

"  There  —  go  to  sleep  !  " 

At  the  end  of  a  week  she  introduced  Jeff  to  her  sister-in- 
law,  having  previously  run  her  fingers  through  his  hair  to 
insure  that  becomingness  to  his  curls  which  would  better 
indicate  his  moral  character  ;  i.nd  spoke  of  him  as  one  of 
her  oldest  Californian  friends. 

At  the  end  of  two  weeks  she  again  presented  him  as  her 
affianced  husband  —  a  long  engagement  of  a  year  being  just 
passed.  Mr.  Wilson,  who  was  bored  by  the  mountain  life, 
undertaken  to  please  his  rich  wife  and  richer  sister,  saw  a 
chance  of  escape  here,  and  bore  willing  testimony  to  the 
distant  Mr.  and  Mrs.  Mayfield  of  the  excellence  of  Miss 
Jessie's  choice.  And  Yuba  Bill  was  Jeffs  best  man. 

The  name  of  Briggs  remained  a  power  in  Tuolumne  and 
Calaveras  County.  Mr.  and  Mrs.  Briggs  never  had  but  one 
word  of  disagreement  or  discussion.  One  day,  Jeff,  looking 
over  some  old  accounts  of  his  wife's,  found  an  unreceipted, 
unvouched-for  expenditure  of  twenty  thousand  dollars. 
"  What  is  this  for,  Jessie  ?  "  he  asked. 

"Oh,  it 'sail  right,  Jeff!" 

But  here  the  now  business-like  and  practical  Mr.  Briggs, 
father  of  a  family,  felt  called  upon  to  make  some  general  re- 
marks  regarding  the  necessity  of  exactitude  in  accounts,  etc. 

"  But  I  'd  rather  not  tell  you,  Jeff." 

"  But  you  ought  to,  Jessie." 

"  Well  then,  dear,  it  was  to  get  those  saddle-bags  of 
yours  from  that  rascal,  Dodd,"  said  little  Mrs.  Briggs 
meekly. 


THE   GEEAT   DEADWOOD  MYSTERY 
PART  I 

IT  was  growing  quite  dark  in  the  telegraph,  office  at 
Cottonwood,  Tuolumne  County,  California.  The  office,  a 
box-like  inclosure,  was  separated  from  the  public  room  of 
the  Miners'  Hotel  by  a  thin  partition,  and  the  operator, 
tvho  was  also  News  and  Express  Agent  at  Cottonwood,  had 
closed  his  window,  and  was  lounging  by  his  news-stand 
preparatory  to  going  home.  Accustomed  as  he  was  to  long 
Intervals  of  idleness,  he  was  fast  becoming  bored. 

The  tread  of  mud-muffled  boots  on  the  veranda  and 
the  entrance  of  two  men  offered  a  momentary  excitement. 
He  recognized  in  the  strangers  two  prominent  citizens  of 
Cottonwood ;  and  their  manner  bespoke  business.  One  of 
them  proceeded  to  the  desk,  wrote  a  dispatch,  and  handed 
it  to  the  other  interrogatively. 

"  That 's  about  the  way  the  thing  p'ints,"  responded  his 
companion. 

"  I  reckoned  it  only  squar'  to  use  his  dientikal  words  ?  " 

"  That 's  so." 

The  first  speaker  turned  to  the  operator  with  the  dispatch. 

"  How  soon  can  you  shove  her  through  ?  " 

The  operator  glanced  professionally  over  the  address  and 
the  length  of  the  dispatch. 

"  Now,"  he  answered  promptly. 

"And  she  gets  there  "  — 

"  To-night ;  but  there 's  no  delivery  until  to-morrow." 

"  Shove  her  through  to-night,  and  say  there  's  an  extra 
twenty  left  here  for  delivery." 


266  THE   GREAT  DEADWOOD   MYSTERY 

The  operator,  accustomed  to  all  kinds  of  extravagant 
outlay  for  expedition,  replied  that  he  would  lay  this  pro- 
position, with  the  dispatch,  before  the  San  Francisco  office. 
He  then  took  it  and  read  it  —  and  re-read  it.  He  pre- 
served the  usual  professional  apathy  —  had  doubtless  sent 
many  more  enigmatical  and  mysterious  messages  —  but, 
nevertheless,  when  he  finished,  he  raised  his  eyes  inquir- 
ingly to  his  customer.  That  gentleman,  who  enjoyed  a 
reputation  for  equal  spontaneity  of  temper  and  revolver, 
met  his  gaze  a  little  impatiently.  The  operator  had  re- 
course to  a  trick.  Under  the  pretense  of  misunderstanding 
the  message,  he  obliged  the  sender  to  repeat  it  aloud  for 
the  sake  of  accuracy,  and  even  suggested  a  few  verbal 
alterations,  ostensibly  to  insure  correctness,  but  really  to 
extract  further  information.  Nevertheless,  the  man  dog- 
gedly persisted  in  a  literal  transcript  of  his  message.  The 
operator  went  to  his  instrument  hesitatingly. 

"  I  suppose,"  he  added  half  questioningly,  "  there  ain't 
no  chance  of  a  mistake.  This  address  is  Rightbody,  that  rich 
old  Bostonian  that  everybody  knows.  There  ain't  but  one? " 

"  That 's  the  address,"  responded  the  first  speaker 
coolly. 

"  Did  n't  know  the  old  chap  had  investments  out  here," 
suggested  the  operator,  lingering  at  his  instrument. 

"  No  more  did  I,"  was  the  insufficient  reply. 

For  some  few  moments  nothing  was  heard  but  the  click 
of  the  instrument,  as  the  operator  worked  the  key  with  the 
usual  appearance  of  imparting  confidence  to  a  somewhat 
reluctant  hearer  who  preferred  to  talk  himself.  The  two 
men  stood  by,  watching  his  motions  with  the  usual  awe  of 
the  unprofessional.  When  he  had  finished,  they  laid  before 
him  two  gold-pieces.  As  the  operator  took  them  up,  he 
could  not  help  saying,  — 

"  The  old  man  went  off  kinder  sudden,  did  n't  he  ? 
Had  no  time  to  write  ?  " 


THE   GREAT  DEADWOOD   MYSTERY  267 

"  Not  sudden  for  that  kind  o'  man,"  was  the  exasperat- 
ing reply. 

But  the  speaker  was  not  to  be  disconcerted.  "  If  there 
is  an  answer  "  — 

"There  ain't  any,"  replied  the  first  speaker  quietly. 

"Why?" 

"  Because  the  man  ez  sent  the  message  is  dead." 

"  But  it 's  signed  by  you  two." 

"  On'y  ez  witnesses  —  eh  ?  "  appealed  the  first  speaker 
to  his  comrade. 

"  On'y  ez  witnesses,"  responded  the  other. 

The  operator  shrugged  his  shoulders.  The  business 
concluded,  the  first  speaker  slightly  relaxed.  He  nodded 
to  the  operator,  and  turned  to  the  bar-room  with  a  pleasing 
social  impulse.  When  their  glasses  were  set  down  empty, 
the  first  speaker,  with  a  cheerful  condemnation  of  the  hard 
times  and  the  weather,  apparently  dismissed  all  previous 
proceedings  from  his  mind,  and  lounged  out  with  his  com- 
panion. At  the  corner  of  the  street  they  stopped. 

"  Well,  that  job  's  done,"  said  the  first  speaker,  by  way 
of  relieving  the  slight  social  embarrassment  of  parting. 

"  Thet  's  so,"  responded  his  companion,  and  shook  his 
hand. 

They  parted.  A  gust  of  wind  swept  through  the  pines, 
and  struck  a  faint  ^Eolian  cry  from  the  wires  above  their 
heads,  and  the  rain  and  the  darkness  again  slowly  settled 
upon  Cottonwood. 

The  message  lagged  a  little  at  San  Francisco,  laid  over 
half  an  hour  at  Chicago,  and  fought  longitude  the  whole 
way,  so  that  it  was  past  midnight  when  the  "  all-night " 
operator  took  it  from  the  wires  at  Boston.  But  it  was 
freighted  with  a  mandate  from  the  San  Francisco  office ; 
and  a  messenger  was  procured,  who  sped  with  it  through 
dark  snow-bound  streets,  between  the  high  walls  of  close- 
shuttered  rayless  houses  to  a  certain  formal  square,  ghostly 


268  THE   GREAT  DEAD  WOOD   MYSTERY 

with  snow-covered  statues.  Here  he  ascended  the  broad 
steps  of  a  reserved  and  solid-looking  mansion,  and  pulled 
a  bronze  bell-knob  that,  somewhere  within  those  chaste 
recesses,  after  an  apparent  reflective  pause,  coldly  commu- 
nicated the  fact  that  a  stranger  was  waiting  without  —  as 
he  ought.  Despite  the  lateness  of  the  hour,  there  was  a 
slight  glow  from  the  windows,  clearly  not  enough  to  warm 
the  messenger  with  indications  of  a  festivity  within,  but 
yet  bespeaking,  as  it  were,  some  prolonged  though  subdued 
excitement.  The  sober  servant,  who  took  the  dispatch 
and  receipted  for  it  as  gravely  as  if  witnessing  a  last  will 
and  testament,  respectfully  paused  before  the  entrance  of 
the  drawing-room.  The  sound  of  measured  and  rhetorical 
speech,  through  which  the  occasional  catarrhal  cough  of  the 
New  England  coast  struggled,  as  -the  only  effort  of  nature 
not  wholly  repressed,  came  from  its  heavily  curtained  re- 
cesses ;  for  the  occasion  of  the  evening  had  been  the  recep- 
tion and  entertainment  of  various  distinguished  persons, 
and,  as  had  been  epigram matically  expressed  by  one  of  the 
guests,  "  the  history  of  the  country  "  was  taking  its  leave 
in  phrases  more  or  less  memorable  and  characteristic. 
Some  of  these  valedictory  axioms  were  clever,  some  witty, 
a  few  profound,  but  always  left  as  a  genteel  coptribution  to 
the  entertainer.  Some  had  been  already  prepared,  and,  like 
a  card,  had  served  and  identified  the  guest  at  other  mansions. 

The  last  guest  departed,  the  last  carriage  rolled  away, 
when  the  servant  ventured  to  indicate  the  existence  of  the 
dispatch  to  his  master,  who  was  standing  on  the  hearth-rug 
in  an  attitude  of  wearied  self-righteousness.  He  took  it, 
opened  it,  read  it,  re-read  it,  and  said,  — 

"  There  must  be  some  mistake  !  It  is  not  for  me ;  call 
the  boy,  Waters." 

Waters,  who  was  perfectly  aware  that  the  boy  had  left, 
nevertheless  obediently  walked  towards  the  hall  door,  but 
was  recalled  by  his  master. 


THE   GREAT   DEADWOOD   MYSTERY  269 

"  No  matter  —  at  present !  " 

"It's  nothing  serious,  William  ?"  asked  Mrs.  Rightbody, 
with  languid  wifely  concern. 

"  No,  nothing.      Is  there  a  light  in  my  study  ?  " 

"  Yes.  But  before  you  go.  can  you  give  me  a  moment 
or  two  ?  " 

Mr.  Rightbody  turned  a  little  impatiently  towards  his 
wife.  She  had  thrown  herself  languidly  on  the  sofa,  her 
hair  was  slightly  disarranged,  and  part  of  a  slippered  foot 
was  visible.  She  might  have  been  a  finely  formed  woman, 
but  even  her  careless  de'shabille  left  the  general  impression 
that  she  was  severely  flanneled  throughout,  and  that  any 
ostentation  of  womanly  charm  was  under  vigorous  sanitary 
surveillance. 

"  Mrs.  Marvin  told  me  to-night  that  her  son  made  no 
secret  of  his  serious  attachment  for  our  Alice,  and  that  if  I 
was  satisfied  Mr.  Marvin  would  be  glad  to  confer  with  you 
at  once." 

The  information  did  not  seem  to  absorb  Mr.  Rightbody's 
wandering  attention,  but  rather  increased  his  impatience. 
He  said  hastily  that  he  would  speak  of  that  to-morrow ; 
and,  partly  by  way  of  reprisal,  and  partly  to  dismiss  the 
subject,  added,  — 

"  Positively,  James  must  pay  some  attention  to  the  reg- 
ister and  the  thermometer.  It  was  over  70°  to-night,  and 
the  ventilating  draught  was  closed  in,  the  drawing-room." 

"  That  was  because  Professor  Ammon  sat  near  it,  and 
the  old  gentleman's  tonsils  are  so  sensitive.'' 

"  He  ought  to  know  from  Dr.  Dyer  Doit  that  systematic 
and  regular  exposure  to  draughts  stimulates  the  mucous 
membrane,  while  fixed  air,  over  60°  invariably"  — 

"I  am  afraid,  William,"  interrupted  Mrs.  Rightbody, 
with  feminine  adroitness,  adopting  her  husband's  topic  with 
a  view  of  thereby  directing  him  from  it,  —  "I'm  afraid 
that  people  do  not  yet  appreciate  the  substitution  of  bouil- 


270  THE    CHEAT  DEADWOOD   MYSTERY 

Ion  for  punch  and  ices.  I  observed  that  Mr.  Spondee 
declined  it,  and  I  fancied  looked  disappointed.  The  fibrine 
and  wheat  in  liqueur-glasses  passed  quite  unnoticed  too." 

"And  yet  each  half-drachm  contained  the  half-digested 
substance  of  a  pound  of  beef.  I  'in  surprised  at  Spondee," 
continued  Mr.  Rightbody  aggrievedly.  "  Exhausting  his 
brain  and  nerv,e  force  by  the  highest  creative  efforts  of  the 
Muse,  he  prefers  perfumed  and  diluted  alcohol  flavored  with 
carbonic  acid  gas.  Even  Mrs.  Faringway  admitted  to  me 
that  the  sudden  lowering  of  the  temperature  of  the  stomach 
by  the  introduction  of  ice  "  — 

"  Yes,  but  she  took  a  lemon  ice  at  the  last  Dorothea  Re- 
ception, and  asked  me  if  I  had  observed  that  the  lower 
animals  refused  their  food  at  a  temperature  over  60°." 

Mr.  Rightbody  again  moved  impatiently  toward  the  door. 
Mrs.  Rightbody  eyed  him  ciiriously. 

"  You  will  not  write,  I  hope  ?  Dr.  Keppler  told  me 
to-night  that  your  cerebral  symptoms  interdicted  any  pro- 
longed mental  strain." 

"  I  must  consult  a  few  papers,"  responded  Mr.  Right- 
body  curtly,  as  he  entered  his  library. 

It  was  a  richly  furnished  apartment,  morbidly  severe  in 
its  decorations,  which  were  symptomatic  of  a  gloomy  dys- 
pepsia of  art,  then  quite  prevalent.  A  few  curios,  very 
ugly,  but  providentially  equally  rare,  were  scattered  about ; 
there  were  various  bronzes,  marbles,  and  casts,  all  requiring 
explanation,  and  so  fulfilling  their  purpose  of  promoting 
conversation  and  exhibiting  the  erudition  of  their  owner. 
There  were  souvenirs  of  travel  with  a  history,  old  bric-a- 
brac  with  a  pedigree,  but  little  or  nothing  that  challenged 
attention  for  itself  alone.  In  all  cases  the  superiority  of 
the  owner  to  his  possessions  was  admitted.  As  a  natural 
result  nobody  ever  lingered  there,  the  servants  avoided  the 
room,  and  no  child  was  ever  known  to  play  in  it. 

Mr.  Rightbody  turned  up  the  gas,  and  from  a  cabinet 


THE   GREAT   DEADWOOD   MYSTERY  271 

of  drawers,  precisely  labeled,  drew  a  package  of  letters. 
These  he  carefully  examined.  All  were  discolored,  and 
made  dignified  by  age  ;  but  some,  in  their  original  fresh- 
ness, must  have  appeared  trifling  and  inconsistent  with  any 
correspondent  of  Mr.  Rightbody.  Nevertheless,  that  gen- 
tleman spent  some  moments  in  carefully  perusing  them, 
occasionally  referring  to  the  telegram  in  his  hand.  Sud- 
denly there  was  a  knock  at  the  door.  Mr.  Rightbody 
started,  made  a  half-unconscious  movement  to  return  the 
letters  to  the  drawer,  turned  the  telegram  face  downwards, 
and  then,  somewhat  harshly,  stammered,  — 

"  Eh  ?     Who 's  there  ?     Come  in  !  " 

"I  beg  your  pardon,  papa,"  said  a  very  pretty  girl,  enter- 
ing, without,  however,  the  slightest  trace  of  apology  or 
awe  in  her  manner,  arid  taking  a  chair  with  the  self-posses- 
sion and  familiarity  of  an  habitue  of  the  room;  "  but  I  knew 
it  was  not  your  habit  to  write  late,  so  I  supposed  you  were 
not  busy.  I  am  on  my  way  to  bed." 

She  was  so  very  pretty,  and  withal  so  utterly  uncon- 
scious of  it,  or  perhaps  so  consciously  superior  to  it,  that 
one  was  provoked  into  a  more  critical  examination  of  her 
face.  But  this  only  resulted  in  a  reiteration  of  her  beauty,. 
and,  perhaps,  the  added  facts  that  her  dark  eyes  were  very 
womanly,  her  rich  complexion  eloquent,  and  her  chiseled 
lips  full  enough  to  be  passionate  or  capricious,  notwith- 
standing that  their  general  effect  suggested  neither  caprice, 
womanly  weakness,  nor  passion. 

With  the  instinct  of  an  embarrassed  man,  Mr.  Right- 
body  touched  the  topic  he  would  have  preferred  to  avoid. 

"  I  suppose  we  must  talk  over  to-morrow,"  he  hesitated, 
"  this  matter  of  yours  and  Mr.  Marvin's  ?  Mrs.  Marvin 
has  formally  spoken  to  your  mother." 

Miss  Alice  lifted  her  bright  eyes  intelligently,  but  not 
joyfully,  and  the  color  of  action  rather  than  embarrass- 
ment rose  to  her  round  cheeks. 


272        THE  GREAT  DEADWOOD  MYSTERY 

"Yes,  he  said  she  would,"  she  answered  simply. 

"  At  present,"  continued  Mr.  Rightbocly  still  awkwardly, 
11 1  see  no  objection  to  the  proposed  arrangement." 

Miss  Alice  opened  her  round  eyes  at  this.  "  Why,  papa, 
I  thought  it  had  been  all  settled  long  ago.  Mamma  knew 
it,  you  knew  it.  Last  July  mamma  and  you  talked  it 
over." 

"  Yes,  yes,"  returned  her  father,  fumbling  his  papers ; 
"that  is  —  well,  we  will  talk  of  it  to-morrow."  In  fact, 
Mr.  Rightbody  had  intended  to  give  the  affair  a  proper 
attitude  of  seriousness  and  solemnity  by  due  precision  of 
speech  arid  some  apposite  reflections  when  he  should  im- 
part the  news  to  his  daughter,  but  felt  himself  unable  to  do 
it  now.  "  I  am  glad,  Alice,"  he  said  at  last,  "  that  you 
have  quite  forgotten  your  previous  whims  and  fancies.  You 
see  we  are  right." 

"  Oh,  I  dare  say,  papa,  if  I  'm  to  be  married  at  all,  that 
Mr.  Marvin  is  in  every  way  suitable." 

Mr.  Rightbody  looked  at  his  daughter  narrowly.  There 
was  not  the  slightest  impatience  nor  bitterness  in  her  man- 
ner ;  it  was  as  well  regulated  as  the  sentiment  she  ex- 
pressed. 

"  Mr.  Marvin  is  "  —  he  began. 

"  I  know  what  Mr.  Marvin  is,"  interrupted  Miss  Alice, 
"  and  he  has  promised  me  that  I  shall  be  allowed  to  go  on 
with  my  studies  the  same  as  before.  I  shall  graduate  with 
my  class,  and  if  I  prefer  to  practice  my  profession,  I  can 
do  so  in  two  years  after  our  marriage." 

"  In  two  years  ?  "  queried  Mr.  Rightbody  curiously. 

"  Yes.  You  see,  in  case  we  should  have  a  child,  that 
would  give  me  time  enough  to  wean  it." 

Mr.  Rightbody  looked  at  this  flesh  of  his  flesh,  pretty 
and  palpable  flesh  as  it  was  ;  but  being  confronted  as  equally 
with  the  brain  of  his  brain,  all  he  could  do  Avas  to  say 
meekly,  — 


THE   GREAT   DEADWOOD   MYSTERY  273 

"  Yes,  certainly.     We  will  see  about  all  that  to-morrow." 

Miss  Alice  rose.  Something  in  the  free,  unfettered 
swing  of  her  arms,  as  she  rested  them  lightly,  after  a  half 
yawn,  on  her  lithe  hips,  suggested  his  next  speech,  although 
still  distrait  and  impatient. 

"  You  continue  your  exercise  with  the  health -lift  yet, 
I  see." 

"  Yes,  papa,  but  I  had  to  give  up  the  flannels.  I  don't 
see  how  mamma  could  wear  them.  But  my  dresses  are 
high-necked,  and  by  bathing  I  toughen  my  skin.  See,"  she 
added,  as  with  a  child-like  unconsciousness  she  unfastened 
two  or  three  buttons  of  her  gown,  and  exposed  the  white 
surface  of  her  throat  and  neck  to  her  father,  "  I  can  defy  a 
chill." 

Mr.  Rightbody,  with  something  akin  to  a  genuine  play- 
ful, paternal  laugh,  leaned  forward  and  kissed  her  forehead. 

"It's  getting  late,  Ally,"  he  said  parentally,  but  not 
dictatorially.  "  Go  to  bed." 

"  I  took  a  nap  of  three  hours  this  afternoon,"  said  Miss 
Alice,  with  a  dazzling  smile,  "  to  anticipate  this  dissipation. 
Good-night,  papa.  To-morrow,  then." 

"  To-morrow,"  repeated  Mr.  Rightbody,  with  his  eyes 
still  fixed  upon  the  girl  vaguely.  "  Good-night." 

Miss  Alice  tripped  from  the  room,  possibly  a  trifle  the 
more  light  heartedly  that  she  had  parted  from  her  father  in 
one  of  his  rare  moments  of  illogical  human  weakness.  And 
perhaps  it  was  well  for  the  poor  girl  that  she  kept  this 
single  remembrance  of  him,  when,  I  fear,  in  after  years,  his 
methods,  his  reasoning,  and  indeed  all  he  had  tried  to  im- 
press upon  her  childhood,  had  faded  from  her  memory. 

For,  when  she  had  left,  Mr.  Rightbody  fell  again  to  the 
examination  of  his  old  letters.  This  was  quite  absorbing  ; 
so  much  so  that  he  did  not  notice  the  footsteps  of  Mrs- 
Rightbody  on  the  staircase  as  she  passed  to  her  chamber, 
nor  that  she  had  paused  on  the  landing  to  look  through 


274  THE    GREAT   DEADWOOD   MYSTERY 

the  glass  hall  door  on  her  husband,  as  he  sat  there  with  the 
letters  beside  him  and  the  telegram  opened  before  him. 
Had  she  waited  a  moment  later,  she  would  have  seen  him 
rise  and  walk  to  the  sofa  with  a  disturbed  air  and  a  slight 
confusion,  so  that  on  reaching  it  he  seemed  to  hesitate  to 
lie  down,  although  pale  and  evidently  faint.  Had  she  still 
waited,  she  would  have  seen  him  rise  again  with  an  agonized 
effort,  stagger  to  the  table,  fumblingly  refold  and  replace 
the  papers  in  the  cabinet,  and  lock  it ;  and,  although  now 
but  half  conscious,  hold  the  telegram  over  the  gas-flame  till 
it  was  consumed.  For  had  she  waited  until  this  moment, 
she  would  have  flown  unhesitatingly  to  his  aid,  as,  this  act 
completed,  he  staggered  again,  reached  his  hand  toward  the 
bell,  but  vainly,  and  then  fell  prone  upon  the  sofa. 

But,  alas !  no  providential  nor  accidental  hand  was  raised 
to  save  him,  or  anticipate  the  progress  of  this  story.  And 
when,  half  an  hour  later,  Mrs.  Rightbbdy,  a  little  alarmed 
and  more  indignant  at  his  violation  of  the  doctor's  rules, 
appeared  upon  the  threshold,  Mr.  Kightbody  lay  upon  the 
sofa  —  dead  ! 

With  bustle,  with  thronging  feet,  with  the  irruption  of 
strangers,  and  a  hurrying  to  and  fro,  but,  more  than  all, 
with  an  impulse  and  emotion  unknown  to  the  mansion  when 
its  owner  was  in  life,  Mrs.  Rightbody  strove  to  call  back 
the  vanished  life ;  but  in  vain.  The  highest  medical  in- 
telligence, called  from  its  bed  at  this  strange  hour,  saw  only 
the  demonstration  of  its  theories  made  a  year  before.  Mr. 
Rightbody  was  dead  —  without  doubt  —  without  mystery 
—  even  as  a  correct  man  should  die ;  logically,  and  in- 
dorsed by  the  highest  medical  authority. 

But  even  in  the  confusion,  Mrs.  Rightbody  managed  to 
speed  a  messenger  to  the  telegraph  office  for  a  copy  of  the 
dispatch  received  by  Mr.  Rightbody,  but  now  missing. 

In  the  solitude  of  her  own  room,  and  without  a  con- 
fidant,  she  read  these  words :  — 


THE   GKEAT   DEADWOOD   MYSTERY  275 

Copy. 

To  Mr.  Adams  Rightbody,  Boston,  Mass. 
Joshua  Silsbee  died  suddenly  this  morning.     His  last 
request  was  that  you  should  remember  your  sacred  compact 
.  with  him  of  thirty  years  ago. 

(Signed)      SEVENTY-FOUR. 
SEVENTY-FIVE. 

In  the  darkened  home,  and  amid  the  formal  condolements 
of  their  friends,  who  had  called  to  gaze  upon  the  scarcely 
cold  features  of  their  late  associate,  Mrs.  Rightbody 
managed  to  send  another  dispatch.  It  was  addressed 
to  "  Seventy-Four  and  Seventy-Five,"  Cottonwood.  In 
a  few  hours  she  received  the  following  enigmatical  re- 
sponse :  — 

"  A  horse-thief,  named  Josh  Silsbee,  was  lynched  yester- 
day morning  by  the  Vigilantes  at  Deadwood." 


PART  H 

The  spring  of  1874  was  retarded  in  the  Californian 
Sierras.  So  much  so  that  certain  Eastern  tourists  who 
had  early  ventured  into  the  Yosemite  Valley  found 
themselves,  one  May  morning,  snow-bound  against  the 
tempestuous  shoulders  of  El  Capitan.  So  furious  was 
the  onset  of  the  .wind  at  the  Upper  Merced  Canon,  that 
even  so  respectable  a  lady  as  Mrs.  Rightbody  was  fain  to 
cling  to  the  neck  of  her  guide  to  keep  her  seat  in  the 
saddle ;  while  Miss  Alice,  scorning  all  masculine  assist- 
ance, was  hurled,  a  lovely  chaos,  against  the  snowy  wall 
of  the  chasm.  Mrs.  Rightbody  screamed ;  Miss  Alice 
raged  under  her  breath,  but  scrambled  to  her  feet  again  in 
silence. 

"  I  told  you  so,"  said  Mrs.   Rightbody,  in  an  indignant 


276  THE   GREAT   DEADWOOD   MYSTERY 

whisper    as    her    daughter   again   ranged  beside    her.     "  I 
warned  you  especially,  Alice  —  that  —  that "  — 

"  What  ?  "  interrupted  Miss  Alice  curtly. 

"  That  you  would  need  your  chemiloons  and  high 
boots,"  said  Mrs.  Rightbody,  in  a  regretful  undertone, 
slightly  increasing  her  distance  from  the  guides. 

Miss  Alice  shrugged  her  pretty  shoulders  scornfully,  but 
ignored  her  mother's  implication. 

"  You  were  particularly  warned  against  going  into  the 
valley  at  this  season,"  she  only  replied  grimly. 

Mrs.  Rightbody  raised  her  eyes  impatiently. 

"You  know  how  anxious  I  was  to  discover  your  poor 
father's  strange  correspondent,  Alice  ;  you  have  no  con- 
sideration." 

"  But  when  you  have  discovered  him  —  what  then  ?  " 
queried  Miss  Alice. 

"  What  then  ?  " 

"  Yes.  My  belief  is  that  you  will  find  the  telegram 
only  a  mere  business  cipher,  and  all  this  quest  mere 
nonsense." 

"  Alice  !  why,  you  yourself  thought  your  father's  conduct 
that  night  very  strange.  Have  you  forgotten  ?  " 

The  young  lady  had  not,  but  for  some  far-reaching 
feminine  reason  chose  to  ignore  it  at  that  moment,  when 
her  late  tumble  in  the  snow  was  still  fresh  in  her  mind. 

"And  this  woman  —  whoever  she  may  be,"  continued 
Mrs.  Rightbody. 

"  How  do  you  know  there 's  a  woman  in  the  case  ?  " 
interrupted  Miss  Alice,  wickedly,  I  fear. 

"  How  do  —  I  —  know  —  there  's  a  woman  ?  "  slowly 
ejaculated  Mrs.  Rightbody,  floundering  in  the  snow  and 
the  unexpected  possibility  of  such  a  ridiculous  question. 
But  here  her  guide  flew  to  her  assistance,  and  estopped 
further  speech.  And,  indeed,  a  grave  problem  was  before 
them. 


THE   GREAT   DEADWOOD   MYSTERY  277 

The  road  that  led  to  their  single  place  of  refuge  —  a 
cabin,  half  hotel,  half  trading-post,  scarce  a  mile  away  — 
skirted  the  base  of  the  rocky  dome,  and  passed  perilously 
near  the  precipitous  wall  of  the  valley.  There  was  a  rapid 
descent  of  a  hundred  yards  or  more  to  this  terrace-like 
passage,  and  the  guides  paused  for  a  moment  of  consulta- 
tion, coolly  oblivious  alike  to  the  terrified  questioning  of 
Mrs.  Rightbody  or  the  half-insolent  independence  of  the 
daughter.  The  elder  guide  was  russet-bearded,  stout,  and 
humorous ;  the  younger  was  dark-bearded,  slight,  and 
serious . 

"  Ef  you  kin  git  young  Bunker  Hill  to  let  you  tote  her 
on  your  shoulders,  I  '11  git  the  madam  to  hang  on  to  me," 
came  to  Mrs.  Rightbody's  horrified  ears  as  the  expression 
of  her  particular  companion. 

"  Freeze  to  the  old  gal,  and  don't  reckon  on  me  if  the 
daughter  starts  in  to  play  it  alone,"  was  the  enigmatical 
response  of  the  younger  guide. 

Miss  Alice  overheard  both  propositions  ;  and  before  the 
two  men  returned  to  their  side,  that  high-spirited  young 
lady  had  urged  her  horse  down  the  declivity. 

Alas  !  at  this  moment  a  gust  of  whirling  snow  swept 
down  upon  her.  There  was  a  flounder,  a  misstep,  a  fatal 
strain  on  the  wrong  rein,  a  fall,  a  few  plucky  but  unavailing 
struggles,  and  both  horse  and  rider  slid  ignominiously 
down  toward  the  rocky  shelf.  Mrs.  Rightbody  screamed. 
Miss  Alice,  from  a  confused  debris  of  snow  and  ice,  up- 
lifted a  vexed  and  coloring  face  to  the  younger  guide  —  a 
little  the  more  angrily,  perhaps,  that  she  saw  a  shade  of 
impatience  on  his  face. 

"  Don't  move,  but  tie  one  end  of  the  '  lass '  under  your 
arms  and  throw  me  the  other,"  he  said  quietly. 

"  What  do  you  mean  by  '  lass '  —  the  lasso  ?  "  asked 
Miss  Alice  disgustedly. 

"Yes,  ma'am." 


278  THE   GREAT   DEAD  WOOD    MYSTERY 

"  Then  why  don't  you  say  so  ?  " 

"Oh,  Alice!"  reproachfully  interpolated  Mrs.  Eight- 
body,  encircled  by  the  elder  guide's  stalwart  arm. 

Miss  Alice  deigned  no  reply,  but  drew  the  loop  of  the 
lasso  over  her  shoulders,  and  let  it  drop  to  her  round 
waist.  Then  she  essayed  to  throw  the  other  end  to  the 
guide.  Dismal  failure !  The  first  fling  nearly  knocked 
her  off"  the  ledge,  the  second  went  all  wild  against  the 
rocky  wall,  the  third  caught  in  a  thorn  bush,  twenty  feet 
below  her  companion's  feet.  Miss  Alice's  arm  sunk  help- 
lessly to  her  side,  at  which  signal  of  unqualified  surrender 
the  younger  guide  threw  himself  half-way  down  the  slope, 
worked  his  way  to  the  thorn-bush,  hung  for  a  moment 
perilously  over  the  parapet,  secured  the  lasso,  and  then 
began  to  pull  away  at  his  lovely  burden.  Miss  Alice  was 
no  dead  weight,  however,  but  steadily  half  scrambled  on 
her  hands  and  knees  to  within  a  foot  or  two  of  her  rescuer. 
At  this  too  familiar  proximity,  she  stood  up,  and  leaned  a 
little  stiffly  against  the  line,  causing  the  guide  to  give  an 
extra  pull,  which  had  the  lamentable  effect  of  landing  her 
almost  in  his  arms.  As  it  was,  her  intelligent  forehead 
struck  his  nose  sharply,  and,  I  regret  to  add,  treating  of  a 
romantic  situation,  caused  that  somewhat  prominent  sign 
and  token  of  a  hero  to  bleed  freely.  Miss  Alice  instantly 
clapped  a  handful  of  snow  over  his  nostrils. 

"  Now  elevate  your  right  arm,"  she  said  commandingly. 

He  did  as  he  was  bidden  —  but  sulkily. 

"  That  compresses  the  artery." 

No  man,  with  a  pretty  woman's  hand  and  a  handful  of 
snow  over  his  mouth  and  nose,  could  effectively  utter  a 
heroic  sentence,  nor  with  his  arm  elevated  stiffly  over  his 
head  assume  a  heroic  attitude.  But  when  his  mouth  was 
free  again,  he  said  half  sulkily,  half  apologetically,  — 

"  I  might  have  known  a  girl  could  n't  throw  worth  a 
cent." 


DISMAL  FAILURE 


11  Why  ?  "  demanded  Miss  Alice  sharply. 

"  Because  —  why  —  because  —  you  see  —  they  have  n't 
got  the  experience,"  he  stammered  feebly. 

"  Nonsense,  they  have  n't  the  clavicle  —  that 's  all ! 
It 's  because  I  'm  a  woman,  and  smaller  in  the  collar-bone, 
that  I  have  n't  the  play  of  the  forearm  which  you  have. 
See ! "  She  squared  her  shoulders  slightly,  and  turned 
the  blaze  of  her  dark  eyes  full  on  his.  "  Experience,  in- 
deed !  A  girl  can  learn  anything  a  boy  can." 

Apprehension  took  the  place  of  ill  humor  in  her  hearer. 
He  turned  his  eyes  hastily  away,  arid  glanced  above  him. 
The  elder  guide  had  gone  forward  to  catch  Miss  Alice's 
horse,  which,  relieved  of  his  rider,  was  floundering  toward 
the  trail.  Mrs.  Rightbody  was  nowhere  to  be  seen.  And 
these  two  were  still  twenty  feet  below  the  trail! 

There  was  an  awkward  pause. 

"  Shall  I  pull  you  up  the  same  way  ?  "  he  queried.  Miss 
Alice  looked  at  his  nose,  and  hesitated.  "  Or  will  you  take 
my  hand  ?  "  he  added,  in  surly  impatience.  To  his  surprise, 
Miss  Alice  took  his  hand,  and  they  began  the  ascent  together. 

But  the  way  Avas  difficult  and  dangerous.  Once  or  twice 
her 'feet  slipped  on  the  smoothly  worn  rock  beneath,  and 
she  confessed  to  an  inward  thankfulness  when  her  uncer- 
tain feminine  hand-grip  was  exchanged  for  his  strong  arm 
around  her  waist.  Not  that  he  was  ungentle,  but  Miss 
Alice  angrily  felt  that  he  had  once  or  twice  exercised  his 
superior  masculine  functions  in  a  rough  way  ;  and  yet  the 
next  moment  she  would  have  probably  rejected  the  idea 
that  she  had  even  noticed  it.  There  was  no  doubt,  how- 
ever, that  he  was  a  little  surly. 

A  fierce  scramble  finally  brought  them  back  in  safety  to 
the  trail ;  but  in  the  action  Miss  Alice's  .shoulder,  striking 
a  projecting  boulder,  wrung  from  her  a  feminine  cry  of  pain, 
her  first  sign  of  womanly  weakness.  The  guide  stopped 
instantly. 


280  THE   GREAT   DEADWOOD   MYSTERY 

"  I  am  afraid  I  hurt  you  ?  " 

She  raised  her  brown  lashes,  a  trifle  moist  from  suffering, 
looked  in  his  eyes,  and  dropped  her  own.  Why,  the  could 
not  tell.  And  yet  he  had  certainly  a  kind  face,  despite 
its  seriousness  ;  and  a  fine  face,  albeit  unshorn  and  weather- 
beaten.  Her  own  eyes  had  never  been  so  near  to  any 
man's  before  save  her  lover's ;  and  yet  she  had  never  seen 
so  much  in  even  his.  She  slipped  her  hand  away,  not 
with  any  reference  to  him,  but  rather  to  ponder  over  this 
singular  experience,  and  somehow  felt  uncomfortable  thereat. 

Nor  was  he  less  so.  It  was  but  a  few  days  ago  that 
he  had  accepted  the  charge  of  this  young  woman  from  the 
elder  guide,  who  was  the  recognized  escort  of  the  Right- 
body  party,  having  been  a  former  correspondent  of  her 
father's.  He  had  been  hired  like  any  other  guide,  but 
had  undertaken  the  task  with  that  chivalrous  enthusiasm 
which  the  average  Californian  always  extends  to  the  sex 
so  rare  to  him.  But  the  illusion  had  passed,  and  he  had 
dropped  into  a  sulky  practical  sense  of  his  situation,  per- 
haps fraught  with  less  danger  to  himself.  Only  when 
appealed  to  by  his  manhood  or  her  weakness,  he  had  for- 
gotten his  wounded  vanity. 

He  strode  moodily  ahead,  dutifully  breaking  the  path 
for  her  in  the  direction  of  the  distant  canon,  where  Mrs. 
Rightbody  and  her  friend  awaited  them.  Miss  Alice  was 
first  to  speak.  In  this  trackless,  unchartered  terra  incog- 
nita of  the  passions,  it  is  always  the  woman  who  steps  out 
to  lead  the  way. 

"  You  know  this  place  very  well.  I  suppose  you  have 
lived  here  long  ?  " 

"Yes." 

"  You  were  not  born  here  —  no  ?  " 

A  long  pause. 

"  I  observe  they  call  you  '  Stanislaus  Joe.'  Of  course 
that  is  not  your  real  name  ? "  (Mem.  Miss  Alice  had 


THE   GREAT   DEAD  WOOD   MYSTERY  2«1 

never  called  him  anything,  usually  prefacing  any  request 
with  a  languid,  "  Oh-er-er,  please,  mister-er-a  !  "  —  explicit 
enough  for  his  station.) 

"  No." 

Miss  Alice  (trotting  after  him,  and  bawling  in  his  ear), 
"  What  name  did  you  say  ?  " 

The  man  (doggedly),  "  I  don't  know." 

Nevertheless,  when  they  reached  the  cabin,  after  an  half- 
hour's  buffeting  with  the  storm,  Miss  Alice  applied  herself 
to  her  mother's  escort,  Mr.  Ryder. 

"  What 's  the  name  of  the  man  who  takes  care  of  my 
horse  ?  " 

"  Stanislaus  Joe,"  responded  Mr.  Ryder. 

"  Is  that  all  ?  " 

"  No  ;   sometimes  he  's  called  Joe  Stanislaus." 

Miss  Alice  (satirically),  "  I  suppose  it 's  the  custom  here 
to  send  young  ladies  out  with  gentlemen  who  hide  their 
names  under  an  alias  ?  " 

Mr.  Ryder  (greatly  perplexed),  "  Why,  clear  me,  Miss 
Alice,  yoa  allers  'peared  to  me  as  a  gal  as  was  able  to  take 
keer  "  - 

Miss  Alice  (interrupting  with  a  wounded  dove-like  timid- 
ity), "  Oh,  never  mind,  please  !  " 

The  cabin  offered  but  scanty  accommodation  to  the  tourists, 
which  fact,  when  indignantly  presented  by  Mrs.  Rightbody,, 
was  explained  by  the  good-humored  Ryder  from  the  circum- 
stance that  the  usual  hotel  was  only  a  slight  affair  of  boards, 
cloth,  and  paper,  put  up  during  the  season  and  partly  dis- 
mantled in  the  fall.  "  You  could  n't  be  kept  warm  enough 
there,"  he  added.  Nevertheless,  Miss  Alice  noticed  that 
both  Mr.  Ryder  and  Stanislaus  Joe  retired  there  with  their 
pipes,  after  having  prepared  the  ladies'  supper  with  the 
assistance  of  an  Indian  woman,  who  apparently  emerged 
from  the  earth  at  the  coming  of  the  party,  and  disappeared 
as  mysteriously. 


282  THE   GREAT  DEADWOOD   MYSTERY 

The  stars  came  out  brightly  before  they  slept,  and  the 
next  morning  a  clear  unwinking  sun  beamed  with  almost 
summer  power  through  the  shutterless  window  of  their 
cabin,  and  ironically  disclosed  the  details  of  its  rude  inte- 
rior. Two  or  three  mangy,  half-eaten  buffalo  robes,  a  bear- 
skin, some  suspicious-looking  blankets,  rifles  and  saddle?, 
deal  tables  arid  barrels,  made  up  its  scant  inventory.  A 
strip  of  faded  calico  hung  before  a  recess  near  the  chimney, 
but  so  blackened  by  smoke  and  age  that  even  feminine 
curiosity  respected  its  secret.  Mrs.  Rightbody  was  in  high 
spirits,  and  informed  her  daughter  that  she  was  at  last  on 
the  track  of  her  husband's  unknown  correspondent.  "  Sev- 
enty-Four and  Seventy-Five  represent  two  members  of  the 
Vigilance  Committee,  my  dear,  and  Mr.  Ryder  will  assist 
me  to  find  them." 

"  Mr.  Ryder !  "  ejaculated  Miss  Alice,  in  scornful 
astonishment. 

"  Alice,"  said  Mrs.  Rightbody,  with  a  suspicious  assump- 
tion of  sudden  defense,  "you  injure  yourself  —  you  injure 
me  by  this  exclusive  attitude.  Mr.  Ryder  is  a  friend  of 
your  father's,  an  exceedingly  well-informed  gentleman.  I 
have  not,  of  course,  imparted  to  him  the  extent  of  my  sus- 
picions. But  he  can  help  me  to  what  I  must  and  will 
know.  You  might  treat  him  a  little  more  civilly  —  or,  at 
least,  a  little  better  than  you  do  his  servant,  your  guide. 
Mr.  Ryder  is  a  gentleman,  and  not  a  paid  courier." 

Miss  Alice  was  suddenly  attentive.  When  she  spoke 
again  she  asked,  '<  Why  do  you  not  find  out  something  about 
this  Silsbee  —  who  died  —  or  was  hung  —  or  something  of 
that  kind  ?  " 

"  Child,"  said  Mrs.  Rightbody,  "  don't  you  see,  there 
was  no  Silsbee,  or  if  there  was,  he  was  simply  the  confidant 
of  that  —  woman  !  " 

A  knock  at  the  door,  announcing  the  presence  of  Mr. 
Ryder  and  Stanislaus  Joe  with  the  horses,  checked  Mrs. 


THE   GREAT  DEADWOOD   MYSTERY  283 

Rightbody's  speech.  As  the  animals  were  being  packed, 
Mrs.  Rightbody  for  a  moment  withdrew  in  confidential 
conversation  with  Mr.  Ryder,  and,  to  the  young  lady's 
still  greater  annoyance,  left  her  alone  with  Stanislaus  Joe. 
Miss  Alice  was  not  in  good  temper,  but  she  felt  it  neces- 
sary to  say  something. 

"I  hope  the  hotel  offers  better  quarters  for  travelers 
than  this  in  summer,"  she  began. 

"  It  does." 

"  Then  this  does  not  belong  to  it  ?  " 

"  No,  ma'am." 

"  Who  lives  here,  then  ?  " 

"I  do." 

"  I  beg  your  pardon,"  stammered  Miss  Alice,  "  I  thought 
you  lived  where  we  hired  —  where  we  met  you  —  in  —  in. 
—  you  must  excuse  me." 

"  I  'm  not  a  regular  guide  ;  but  as  times  were  hard,  and 
I  was  out  of  grub,  I  took  the  job." 

"Out  of  grub!"  "job!"  And  she  was  the  "job"! 
What  would  Henry  Marvin  say  ?  it  would  nearly  kill  him. 
She  began  herself  to  feel  a  little  frightened,  and  walked 
towards  the  door. 

"  One  moment,  miss  !  " 

The  young  girl  hesitated.  The  man's  tone  was  surly,  and 
yet  indicated  a  certain  kind  of  half-pathetic  grievance.  Her 
curiosity  got  the  better  of  her  prudence,  and  she  turned  back. 

"  That  morning,"  he  began  hastily,  "  when  we  were 
coming  down  the  valley  you  picked  me  up  twice." 

"  I  picked  you  up  ?  "  repeated  the  astonished  Alice. 

"  Yes  —  contradicted  me,  that 's  what  I  mean.  Once 
when  you  said  those  rocks  were  volcanic ;  once  when  you 
said  the  flower  you  picked  was  a  poppy.  I  did  n't  let  on  at 
the  time,  for  it  was  n't  my  say  ;  but  all  the  while  you 
were  talking  I  might  have  laid  for  you  "  — 

"  I  don't  understand  you,"  said  Alice  haughtily. 


284  THE -GREAT   DEADWOOD   MYSTERY 

"  I  might  have  entrapped  you  before  folks.  But  I  only 
want  you  to  know  that  1  'm  right,  and  here  are  the  books 
to  show  it." 

He  drew  aside  the  dingy  calico  curtain,  revealed  a  small 
shelf  of  bulky  books,  took  down  two  large  volumes,  one  of 
Botany,  one  of  Geology,  nervously  sought  his  text,  arid 
put  them  in  Alice's  outstretched  hands. 

"  I  had  no  intention  "  —  she  began  half  proudly,  half 
embarrassed. 

"  Am  I  right,  miss  ?  "  he  interrupted. 

"  I  presume  you  are,  if  you  say  so." 

"  That 's  all,  ma'am  !     Thank  you." 

Before  the  girl  had  time  to  reply,  he  was  gone.  When 
he  again  returned,  it  was  with  her  horse,  and  Mrs.  Right- 
body  and  Ryder  were  awaiting  her.  But  Miss  Alice  no- 
ticed that  his  own  horse  was  missing. 

"  Are  you  not  going  with  us  ?  "  she  asked. 

"No,  ma'am." 

"  Oh,  indeed  !  " 

Miss  Alice  felt  her  speech  was  a  feeble  conventionalism, 
but  it  was  all  she  could  say.  She,  however,  did  something. 
Hitherto  it  had  been  her  habit  to  systematically  reject  his 
assistance  in  mounting  to  her  seat.  Now  she  awaited  him. 
As  he  approached,  she  smiled  and  put  out  her  little  foot. 
He  instantly  stooped ;  she  placed  it  in  his  hand,  rose  with 
a  spring,  and  for  one  supreme  moment  Stanislaus  Joe  held 
her  unresistingly  in  his  arms.  The  next  moment  she  was 
in  the  saddle,  but  in  that  brief  interval  of  sixty  seconds  she 
had  uttered  a  volume  in  a  single  sentence  :  — 

"  I  hope  you  will  forgive  me  !  " 

He  muttered  a  reply,  and  turned  his  face  aside  quickly 
as  if  to  hide  it. 

Miss  Alice  cantered  forward  with  a  smile,  but  pulled  her 
hat  down  over  her  eyes  as  she  joined  her  mother.  She  was 
blushing. 


THE   GREAT   DEADWOOD   MYSTERY  285 

PART  III 

Mr.  Ryder  was  as  good  as  his  word.  A  day  or  two 
later  he  entered  Mrs.  Rightbody's  parlor  at  the  Chrysopolis 
Hotel  in  Stockton,  with  the  information  that  he  had  seen 
the  mysterious  senders  of  the  dispatch,  and  that  they  were 
now  in  the  office  of  the  hotel  waiting  her  pleasure.  Mr. 
Ryder  further  informed  her  that  these  gentlemen  had  only 
stipulated  that  they  should  not  reveal  their  real  names,  and 
that  they  should  he  introduced  to  her  simply  as  the  respec- 
tive Seventy-Four  and  Seventy-Five  who  had  signed  the 
dispatch  sent  to  the  late  Mr.  Rightbody. 

Mrs.  Rightbody  at  first  demurred  to  this  ;  but  on  the 
assurance  from  Mr.  Ryder  that  this  was  the  only  condition 
on  which  an  interview  would  be  granted,  finally  consented. 

"  You  will  find  them  square  men,  even  if  they  are  a 
little  rough,  ma'am  ;  but  if  you  'd  like  me  to  be  present, 
I  '11  stop  ;  though  I  reckon  if  ye  'd  calkilated  on  that,  you  'd 
have  had  me  take  care  o'  your  business  by  proxy,  and  not 
come  yourself  three  thousand  miles  to  do  it." 

Mrs.  Rightbody  believed  it  better  to  see  them  alone. 

"  All  right,  ma'am.  I  ''11  hang  round  out  here,  and  ef 
ye  should  happen  to  hev  a  ticklin'  in  your  throat  and  a 
bad  spell  o'  coughin',  I  '11  drop  in,  careless  like,  to  see  if 
you  don't  want  them  drops.  Sabe  ?  " 

And  with  an  exceedingly  arch  wink,  and  a  slight  famil- 
iar tap  on  Mrs.  Rightbody's  shoulder,  which  might  have 
caused  the  late  Mr.  Rightbody  to  burst  his  sepulchre,  he 
withdrew. 

A  very  timid,  hesitating  tap  on  the  door  was  followed  by 
the  entrance  of  two  men,  both  of  whom,  in  general  size, 
strength,  and  uncouthness,  were  ludicrously  inconsistent 
with  their  diffident  announcement.  They  proceeded  in 
Indian  file  to  the  centre  of  the  room,  faced  Mrs.  Rightbody,, 


286  THE   GREAT   DEAD  WOOD   MYSTERY 

acknowledged  her  deep  courtesy  by  a  strong  shake  of  the 
hand,  and  drawing  two  chairs  opposite  to  her,  sat  down 
side  by  side. 

"  I  presume  I  have  the  pleasure  of  addressing  "  —  began 
Mrs.  Rightbody. 

The  man  directly  opposite  Mrs.  Rightbody  turned  to  the 
other  inquiringly. 

The  other  man  nodded  his  head,  and  replied,  — 

"  Seventy-Four." 

"  Seventy-Five,"  promptly  followed  the  other. 

Mrs.  Rightbody  paused,  a  little  confused. 

"  I  have  sent  for  you,"  she  began  again,  "  to  learn  some- 
thing more  of  the  circumstances  under  which  you  gentle- 
men sent  a  dispatch  to  my  late  husband." 

"  The  circumstances,"  replied  Seventy-Four  quietly, 
with  a  side  glance  at  his  companion,  "panned  out  about 
in  this  yer  style.  We  hung  a  man  named  Josh  Silsbee 
down  at  Deadwood  for  hoss-stealin'.  When  I  say  we,  I 
speak  for  Seventy-Five  yer,  as  is  present,  as  well  as  repre- 
sentin',  so  to  speak,  seventy-two  other  gents  as  is  scattered. 
We  hung  Josh  Silsbee  on  squar',  pretty  squar'  evidence. 
Afore  he  was  strung  up,  Seventy-Five  yer  axed  him,  ac- 
cordin'  to  custom,  ef  there  was  ennything  he  had  to  say, 
or  enny  request  that  he  allowed  to  make  of  us.  He  turns 
to  Seventy-Five  yer,  and  "  — 

Here  he  paused  suddenly,  looking  at  his  companion. 

"  He  sez,  sez  he,"  began  Seventy-Five,  taking  up  the 
narrative  ;  "  he  sez,  '  Kin  I  write  a  letter  ?  '  sez  he.  Sez  I, 
'  Not  much,  ole  man  ;  ye  've  got  no  time.'  Sez  he,  '  Kin  I 
send  a  dispatch  by  telegraph?'  I  sez,  'Heave  ahead.' 
He  sez,  —  these  is  his  dientikal  words,  —  '  Send  to  Adam 
Rightbody,  Boston.  Tell  him  to  remember  his  sacred  corn- 
pack  with  me  thirty  years  ago.' " 

" '  His  sacred  compack  with  me  thirty  years  ago,' " 
echoed  Seventy-Four.  "  His  dientikal  words." 


THE   GREAT  DEADWOOD   MYSTERY  287 

"  What  was  the  compact  ? "  asked  Mrs.  Rightbody 
anxiously. 

Seventy-Four  looked  at  Seventy-Five,  and  then  both 
arose  and  retired  to  the  corner  of  the  parlor,  where  they 
engaged  in  a  slow  but  whispered  deliberation.  Presently 
they  returned,  and  sat  down  again. 

"  We  allow,"  said  Seventy-Four,  quietly  but  decidedly, 
"  that  you  know  what  that  sacred  compact  was." 

Mrs.  Rightbody  lost  her  temper  and  her  truthfulness 
together.  "  Of  course,"  she  said  hurriedly,  "  I  know ;  but 
do  you  mean  to  say  that  you  gave  this  poor  man  no  further 
chance  to  explain  before  you  murdered  him  ?  " 

Seventy-Four  and  Seventy-Five  both  rose  again  slowly, 
and  retired.  When  they  returned  again  and  sat  down, 
Seventy -Five,  who  by  this  time,  through  some  subtle  magne- 
tism, Mrs.  Rightbody  began  to  recognize  as  the  superior 
power,  said  gravely,  — 

"  We  wish  to  say,  regarding  this  yer  murder,  that  Sev- 
enty-Four and  me  is  equally  responsible.  That  we  reckon 
also  to  represent,  so  to  speak,  seventy-two  other  gentlemen 
as  is  scattered.  That  we  are  ready,  Seventy-Four  and  me., 
to  take  and  holt  that  responsibility  now  and  at  any  time 
afore  every  man  or  men  as  kin  be  fetched  agin  us.  We 
wish  to  say  that  this  yer  say  of  ours  holds  good  yer  in 
Californy  or  in  any  part  of  these  United  States." 

"  Or  in  Canady,"  suggested  Seventy-Four. 

"  Or  in  Canady.  We  would  n't  agree  to  cross  the  water 
or  go  to  furrin  parts,  unless  absolutely  necessary.  We 
leaves  the  chise  of  weppings  to  your  principal,  ma'am,  or 
being  a  lady,  ma'am,  and  interested,  to  any  one  you  may 
fetch  to  act  for  him.  An  advertisement  in  any  of  the 
Sacramento  papers,  or  a  playcard  or  handbill  stuck  on  to  a 
tree  near  Deadwood,  saying  that  Seventy-Four  or  Seventy- 
Five  will  communicate  with  this  yer  principal  or  agent  of 
yours,  will  fetch  us  —  allers." 


288  THE   GREAT   DEAD  WOOD   MYSTERY 

Mrs.  Rightbody,  a  little  alarmed  and  desperate,  saw  her 
blunder.  "  I  mean  nothing  of  the  kind,"  she  said  hastily. 
"  I  only  expected  that  you  might  have  some  further  details 
of  this  interview  with  Silsbee  —  that  perhaps  you  could 
tell  me  "  —  a  bold,  bright  thought  crossed  Mrs.  Rightbody's 
mind  —  "  something  more  about  her.'' 

The  two  men  looked  at  each  other. 

"  I  suppose  your  society  have  no  objection  to  giving 
me  information  about  her,"  said  Mrs.  Rightbody  eagerly. 

Another  quiet  conversation  in  the  corner,  and  the  return 
of  both  men. 

"  We  want  to  say  that  we've  no  objection." 

Mrs.  Rightbody's  heart  beat  high.  Her  boldness  had 
made  her  penetration  good.  Yet  she  felt  she  must  not 
alarm  the  men  needlessly. 

"  Will  you  inform  me  to  what  extent  Mr.  Rightbody, 
my  late  husband,  was  interested  in  her  ?  " 

This  time  it  seemed  an  age  to  Mrs.  Rightbody  before 
the  men  returned  from  their  solemn  consultation  in  the 
corner.  She  could  both  hear  and  feel  that  their  discussion 
was  more  animated  than  their  previous  conferences.  She 
was  a  little  mortified,  however,  when  they  sat  down,  to  hear 
Seventy-Four  say  slowly,  — 

"  We  wish  to  say  that  we  don't  allow  to  say  how 
much." 

"Do  you  not  think  that  the •'  sacred  compact'  between 
Mr.  Rightbody  and  Mr.  Silsbee  referred  to  her." 

"  We  reckon  it  do." 

Mrs.  Rightbody,  flushed  and  animated,  would  have 
given  worlds  had  her  daughter  been  present  to  hear  this 
undoubted  confirmation  of  her  theory.  Yet  she  felt  a  little 
nervous  and  uncomfortable  even  on  this  threshold  of  dis- 
covery. 

"  Is  she  here  now  ?  " 

"  She 's  in  Tuolumne,"  said  Seventy-Four. 


THE   GREAT  DEADWOOD   MYSTERY  289 

"  A  little  better  looked  arter  than  formerly,"  added 
Seventy-Five. 

"  I  see.      Then  Mr.  Silsbee  enticed  her  away  ?  " 

"  Well,  ma'am,  it  was  allowed  as  she  runned  away. 
But  it  was  n't  proved,  and  it  generally  wasn't  her  style." 

Mrs.  Kightbody  trifled  with  her  next  question.  "  She 
was  pretty,  of  course  ?  " 

The  eyes  of  both  men  brightened. 

"  She  was  that  !  "  said  Seventy-Four  emphatically. 

"It  would  have  done  yon  good  to  see  her,"  added 
Seventy-Five. 

Mrs.  E/ightbody  inwardly  doubted  it ;  but  before  she 
could  ask  another  question,  the  two  men  again  retired  to 
the  corner  for  consultation.  When  they  came  back  there 
was  a  shade  more  of  kindliness  and  confidence  in  their  man- 
ner, and  Seventy-Four  opened  his  rnind  more  freely. 

"  We  wish  to  say,  ma'am,  looking  at  the  thing,  by  and 
large,  in  a  fa'r-minded  way  —  that  ez  you  seem  interested, 
and  ez  Mr.  Rightbody  was  interested,  and  was  according 
to  all  accounts  de-ceived  and  led  away  by  Silsbee,  that  we 
don't  mind  listening  to  any  proposition  you  might  make, 
as  a  lady  — allowin'  you  was  ekally  interested." 

"  I  understand,"  said  Mrs.  Rightbody  quickly e  *'  And 
you  will  furnish  me  with  any  papers." 

The  two  men  again  consulted. 

"  We  wish  to  say,  ma'am,  that  we  think  she 's  got  pa- 
pers, but "  — 

"  I  must  have  them,  you  understand,"  interrupted  Mrs. 
Rightbody,  "  at  any  price  !  " 

"  We  was  about  to  say,  ma'am,"  said  Seventy-Five 
slowly,  "  that,  considerin'  all  things  —  and  you  being  a  lady 
—  you  kin  have  her,  papers,  pedigree,  and  guarantee  for 
twelve  hundred  dollars  !  " 

It  has  been  alleged  that  Mrs.  Rightbody  asked  only  one 
question  more,  and  then  fainted.  It  is  known,  however, 


290       THE  GREAT  DEADWOOD  MYSTERY 

that  by  the  next  day  it  was  understood  in  Deadwood  that 
Mrs.  Rightbody  had  confessed  to  the  Vigilance  Committee 
that  her  husband,  a  celebrated  Boston  millionaire,  anxious 
to  gain  possession  of  Abner  Springer's  well-known  sorrel 
mare,  had  incited  the  unfortunate  Josh  Silsbee  to  steal  it ; 
and  that  finally,  failing  in  this,  the  widow  of  the  deceased 
Boston  millionaire  was  now  in  personal  negotiation  with 
the  owners. 

Howbeit,  Miss  Alice,  returning  home  that  afternoon, 
found  her  mother  with  a  violent  headache. 

"  We  will  leave  here  by  the  next  steamer,"  said  Mrs. 
Rightbody  languidly.  "  Mr.  Ryder  has  promised  to  accom- 
pany us." 

"  But,  mother  "  — 

"  The  climate,  Alice,  is  overrated.  My  nerves  are 
already  suffering  from  it.  The  associations  are  unfit  for 
you,  and  Mr.  Marvin  is  naturally  impatient." 

Miss  Alice  colored  slightly. 

"  But  your  quest,  mother  ?  " 

"  I  Jve  abandoned  it." 

"But  1  have  not,"  said  Alice  quietly.  "Do  you  re- 
member my  guide  at  the  Yosemite,  Stanislaus  Joe  ?  Well, 
Stanislaus  Joe  is  —  who  do  you  think  ?  " 

Mrs.  Rightbody  was  languidly  indifferent. 

"  Well,  Stanislaus  Joe  is  the  son  of  Joshua  Silsbee." 

Mrs.  Rightbody  sat  \ipright  in  astonishment. 

"  Yes ;  but,  mother,  he  knows  nothing  of  what  we 
know.  His  father  treated  him  shamefully,  and  set  him 
cruelly  adrift  years  ago ;  and  when  he  was  hung,  the  poor 
fellow,  in  sheer  disgrace,  changed  his  name." 

"  But  if  he  knows  nothing  of  his  father's  compact,  of 
what  interest  is  this  ?  " 

"  Oh,  nothing  !  Only  I  thought  it  might  lead  to  some- 
thing." 

Mrs.  Rightbody  suspected  that  "  something,"  and  asked 


THE   GREAT  DEAD  WOOD   MYSTERY  291 

sharply,  "  And  pray  how   did  you  find  it  out  ?     You  did 
not  speak  of  it  in  the  valley." 

"  Oh,  I  did  n't  find  it  out  till  to-day,"  said  Miss  Alice, 
walking  to  the  window.  "He  happened  to  be  here,  and — 
told  me." 


PART  IV 

If  Mrs.  Rightbody's  friends  had  been  astounded  by  her 
singular  and  unexpected  pilgrimage  to  California  so  soon 
after  her  husband's  decease,  they  were  still  more  astounded 
by  the  information  a  year  later  that  she  was  engaged  to  be 
married  to  a  Mr.  Ryder,  of  whom  only  the  scant  history 
was  known  that  he  was  a  Californian,  and  former  correspon- 
dent of  her  husband.  It  was  undeniable  that  the  man  was 
wealthy,  and  evidently  no  mere  adventurer  ;  it  was  rumored 
that  he  was  courageous  and  manly ;  but  even  those  who  de- 
lighted in  his  odd  humor  were  shocked  at  his  grammar  and 
slang.  It  was  said  that  Mr.  Marvin  had  but  one  interview 
with  his  father-in-law  elect,  and  returned  so  supremely  dis- 
gusted that  the  match  was  broken  off.  The  horse-stealing 
story,  more  or  less  garbled,  found  its  way  through  lips  that 
pretended  to  decry  it,  yet  eagerly  repeated  it.  Only  one 
member  of  the  Rightbody  family  —  and  a  new  one  —  saved 
them  from  utter  ostracism.  It  was  young  Mr.  Ryder,  the 
adopted  son  of  the  prospective  head  of  the  household,  whose 
culture,  manners,  and  general  elegance  fascinated  and 
thrilled  Boston  with  a  new  sensation.  It  seemed  to  many 
that  Miss  Alice  would  in  the  vicinity  of  this  rare  exotic 
forget  her  fora.er  enthusiasm  for  a  professional  life  ;  but 
the  young  man  was  pitied  by  society,  and  various  plans  for 
diverting  him  from  any  mesalliance  with  the  Rightbody 
family  were  concocted. 

It  was  a  wintry  night,  and  the  second  anniversary  of 
Mr.  Rightbody's  death,  that  a  light  was  burning  in  his 


292  THE    GKEAT   DEADWOOD   MYSTERY 

library.  But  the  dead  man's  chair  was  occupied  by  young 
Mr.  Ryder,  adopted  son  of  the  new  proprietor  of  the  man- 
sion, and  before  him  stood  Alice,  with  her  dark  eyes  fixed 
on  the  table. 

"  There  must  have  been  something  in  it,  Joe,  believe  me. 
Did  you  never  hear  your  father  speak  of  mine  ?  " 

"Never." 

"  But  you  say  he  was  college  bred,  and  born  a  gentle- 
man, and  in  his  youth  he  must  have  had  many  friends." 

"  Alice,"  said  the  young  man  gravely,  "  when  I  have 
done  something  to  redeem  my  name,  and  wear.it  again 
before  these  people,  before  you,  it  would  be  well  to  revive 
the  past.  But  till  then  "  - 

But  Alice  was  not  to  be  put  down.  "  I  remember," 
she  went  on,  scarcely  heeding  him,  "  that  when  I  came  in 
that  night,  papa  was  reading  a  letter,  and  seemed  to  be  dis- 
concerted." 

"  A  letter  ?  " 

"  Yes  ;  but,"  added  Alice,  with  a  sigh,  "  when  we  found 
him  here  insensible,  there  was  no  letter  on  his  person.  He 
must  have  destroyed  it." 

"  Did  you  ever  look  among  his  papers  ?  If  found,  it 
might  be  a  clue." 

The  young  man  glanced  toward  the  cabinet.  Alice  read 
his  eyes,  and  answered,  — 

"  Oh  dear,  no.  The  cabinet  contained  only  his  papers, 
all  perfectly  arranged,  —  you  know  how  methodical  were  his 
habits,  —  and  some  old  business  and  private  letters,  all  care- 
fully put  away." 

"  Let  us  see  them,"  said  the  young  man,  rising. 

They  opened  drawer  after  drawer  ;  files  upon  files  of 
letters  and  business  papers,  accurately  folded  and  filed. 
Suddenly  Alice  uttered  a  little  cry,  and  picked  up  a  quaint 
ivory  paper-knife  lying  at  the  bottom  of  a  drawer. 

"  It  was  missing  the  next  day,  and  never  could  be  found. 


THE   GEEAT   DEADWOOD   MYSTERY  293 

He  must  have  mislaid  it  here.  This  is  the  drawer,"  said 
Alice  eagerly. 

Here  was  a  clue.  But  the  lower  part  of  the  drawer  was 
filled  with  old  letters,  not  labeled,  yet  neatly  arranged  in 
files.  Suddenly  Joe  stopped,  and  said,  "Put  them  hack, 
Alice,  at  once." 

"  Why  ?  " 

"  Some  of  these  letters  are  in  my  father's  handwriting." 

"  The  more  reason  why  /  should  see  them,"  said  the 
girl  imperatively.  "  Here,  you  take  part  and  I  '11  take 
part,  and  we  '11  get  through  quicker." 

There  was  a  certain  decision  and  independence  in  her 
manner  which  he  had  learned  to  respect.  He  took  the 
letters,  and  in  silence  read  them  with  her.  They  were  old 
college  letters,  so  filled  with  boyish  dreams,  ambitions, 
aspirations,  and  Utopian  theories,  that  I  fear  neither  of 
these  young  people  even  recognized  their  parents  in  the 
dead  ashes  of  the  past.  They  were  both  grave,  until  Alice 
uttered  a  little  hysterical  cry,  and  dropped  her  face  in  her 
hands.  Joe  was  instantly  beside  her. 

"  It 's  nothing,  Joe,  nothing.  Don't  read  it,  please  ; 
please,  don't.  It's  so  funny — it's  so  very  queer." 

But  Joe  had,  after  a  slight,  half-playful  struggle,  taken 
the  letter  from  the  girl.  Then  he  read  aloud  the  words 
written  by  his  father  thirty  years  ago. 

"  I  thank  you,  dear  friend,  for  all  you  say  about  my 
wife  and  boy.  I  thank  you  for  reminding  me  of  our 
boyish  compact.  •  He  will  be  ready  to  fulfill  it,  I  know,  if 
he  loves  those  his  father  loves,  even  if  you  should  marry 
years  later.  I  am  glad  for  your  sake,  for  both  our  sakes, 
that  it  is  a  boy.  Heaven  send  you  a  good  wife,  dear 
Adams,  and  a  daughter,  to  make  my  son  equally  happy." 

Joe  Silsbee  looked  down,  took  the  half-laughing,  half- 
tearful  face  in  his  hands,  kissed  her  forehead,  and,  with 
tears  in  his  grave  eyes,  said,  "  Amen !  " 


294  THE   GREAT   DEADWOOD   MYSTERY 

I  am  inclined  to  think  that  this  sentiment  was  echoed 
heartily  by  Mrs.  Rightbody's  former  acquaintances,  when, 
a  year  later,  Miss  Alice  was  united  to  a  professional  gentle- 
man of  honor  and  renown,  yet  who  was  known  to  be 
the  son  of  a  convicted  horse-thief.  A  few  remembered  the 
previous  Californian  story,  and  found  corroboration  there- 
for ;  but  a  majority  believed  it  a  just  reward  to  Miss  Alice 
for  her  conduct  to  Mr.  Marvin,  and  as  Miss  Alice  cheerfully 
accepted  it  in  that  light,  I  do  not  see  why  I  may  not  end 
tny  story  with  happiness  to  all  concerned. 


FLIP:    A   CALIFORNIA   ROMANCE 
CHAPTER  I 

JUST  where  the  red  track  of  the  Los  Gatos  road  streams 
on  and  upward  like  the  sinuous  trail  of  a  fiery  rocket, 
until  it  is  extinguished  in  the  blue  shadows  of  the  Coast 
Range,  there  is  an  embayed  terrace  near  the  summit, 
hedged  by  dwarf  firs.  At  every  bend  of  the  heat-laden 
road  the  eye  rested  upon  it  wistfully ;  all  along  the  flank 
}f  the  mountain,  which  seemed  to  pant  and  quiver  in  the 
oven-like  air,  through  rising  dust,  the  slow  creaking  of 
dragging  wheels,  the  monotonous  cry  of  tired  springs,  and 
the  muffled  beat  of  plunging  hoofs,  it  held  out  a  promise 
of  sheltered  coolness  and  green  silences  beyond.  Sun- 
burned and  anxious  faces  yearned  toward  it  from  the 
dizzy,  swaying  tops  of  stage-coaches,  from  lagging  teams  far 
below,  from  the  blinding  white  canvas  covers  of  "  moun- 
tain schooners,"  and  from  scorching  saddles  that  seemed 
to  weigh  down  the  scrambling,  sweating  animals  beneath. 
But  it  would  seem  that  the  hope  was  vain,  the  promise 
illusive. 

When  the  terrace  was  reached  it  appeared  not  only  to 
have  caught  and  gathered  all  the  heat  of  the  valley  below, 
but  to  have  evolved  a  fire  of  its  own  from  some  hidden 
crater-like  source  unknown.  Nevertheless,  instead  of  pros- 
trating and  enervating  man  and  beast,  it  was  said  to  have 
induced  the  wildest  exaltation.  The  heated  air  was  filled 
and  stifling  with  resinous  exhalations.  The  delirious  spices 
of  balm,  bay,  spruce,  juniper,  yerba  buena,  wild  syringa, 
and  strange  aromatic  herbs  as  yet  unclassified,  distilled 


296  FLIP:    A   CALIFORNIA   ROMANCE 

and  evaporated  in  that  mighty  heat,  and  seemed  to  fire 
with  a  midsummer  madness  all  who  breathed  their  fumes. 
They  stung,  smarted,  stimulated,  intoxicated. 

It  was  said  that  the  most  jaded  and  footsore  horses 
became  furious  and  ungovernable  under  their  influence ; 
wearied  teamsters  and  muleteers,  who  had  exhausted  their 
profanity  in  the  ascent,  drank  fresh  draughts  of  inspira- 
tion in  this  fiery  air,  extended  their  vocabulary,  and  cre- 
ated new  and  startling  forms  of  objurgation.  It  is  recorded 
that  one  bibulous  stage-driver  exhausted  description  and 
condensed  its  virtues  in  a  single  phrase  :  "  Gin  and  gin- 
ger." This  felicitous  epithet,  flung  out  in  a  generous 
comparison  with  his  favorite  drink,  "  rum  and  gum,"  clung 
to  it  ever  after. 

Such  was  the  current  comment  on  this  vale  of  spices. 
Like  most  human  criticism  it  was  hasty  and  superficial. 
No  one  yet  had  been  known  to  have  penetrated  deeply  its 
mysterious  recesses.  It  was  still  far  below  the  summit 
and  its  wayside  inn.  It  had  escaped  the  intruding  foot 
of  hunter  and  prospector  ;  and  the  inquisitive  patrol  of 
the  county  surveyor  had  only  skirted  its  boundary. 

It  remained  for  Mr.  Lance  Harriott  to  complete  its  ex- 
ploration. His  reasons  for  so  doing  were  simple.  He  had 
made  the  journey  thither  underneath  the  stage-coach,  and 
clinging  to  its  axle.  He  had  chosen  this  hazardous  mode 
of  conveyance  at  night,  as  the  coach  crept  by  his  place  of 
concealment  in  the  wayside  brush,  to  elude  the  sheriff  of 
Monterey  County  and  his  posse,  who  were  after  him.  He 
had  not  made  himself  known  to  his  fellow  passengers,  as 
they  already  knew  him  as  a  gambler,  an  outlaw,  and  a 
desperado  ;  he  deemed  it  unwise  to  present  himself  in  his 
newer  reputation  of  a  man  who  had  just  slain  a  brother 
gambler  in  a  quarrel,  and  for  whom  a  reward  was  offered. 
He  slipped  from  the  axle  as  the  stage-coach  swirled  past 
the  brushing  branches  of  fir,  and  for  an  instant  lay  un 


FLIP  :    A   CALIFORNIA    ROMANCE  297 

noticed,  a  scarcely  distinguishable  mound  of  dust  in  the 
broken  furrows  of  the  road.  Then,  more  like  a  beast  than 
a  man,  he  crept  on  his  hands  and  knees  into  the  steaming 
underbrush. 

Here  he  lay  still  until  the  clatter  of  harness  and  the 
sound  of  voices  faded  in  the  distance.  Had  he  been  fol- 
lowed, it  would  have  been  difficult  to  detect  in  that  inert 
mass  of  rags  any  semblance  to  a  known  form  or  figure. 
A  hideous  reddish  mask  of  dust  and  clay  obliterated  his 
face  ;  his  hands  were  shapeless  stumps  exaggerated  in  his 
trailing  sleeves.  And  when  he  rose,  staggering  like  a 
drunken  man,  and  plunged  wildly  into  the  recesses  of  the 
wood,  a  cloud  of  dust  followed  him,  and  pieces  and  patches 
of  his  frayed  and  rotten  garments  clung  to  the  impeding 
branches.  Twice  he  fell,  but,  maddened  and  upheld  by 
the  smarting  spices  and  stimulating  aroma  of  the  air,  he 
kept  on  his  course. 

Gradually  the  heat  became  less  oppressive ;  once,  when 
he  stopped  and  leaned  exhaustedly  against  a  sapling,  he 
fancied  he  saw  the  zephyr  he  could  not  yet  feel  in  the 
glittering  and  trembling  of  leaves  in  the  distance  before 
him.  Again  the  deep  stillness  was  moved  with  a  faint  sigh- 
ing rustle,  and  he  knew  he  must  be  nearing  the  edge  of  the 
thicket.  The  spell  of  silence  thus  broken  was  followed  by 
a  fainter,  more  musical  interruption  —  the  glassy  tinkle  of 
water  !  A  step  further  his  foot  trembled  on  the  verge  of  a 
slight  ravine,  still  closely  canopied  by  the  interlacing  boughs 
overhead. 

A  tiny  stream  that  he  could  have  dammed  with  his 
hand  yet  lingered  in  this  parched  red  gash  in  the  hillside 
and  trickled  into  a  deep,  irregular,  well-like  cavity,  that 
again  overflowed  and  sent  its  slight  surplus  on.  It  had 
been  the  luxurious  retreat  of  many  a  spotted  trout ;  it  was 
to  be  the  bath  of  Lance  Harriott.  Without  a  moment's 
hesitation,  without  removing  a  single  garment,  he  slipped 


298  FLIP:    A   CALIFORNIA   ROMANCE 

cautiously  into  it,  as  if  fearful  of  losing  a  single  drop.  Kis 
head  disappeared  from  the  level  of  the  bank  ;  the  solitude 
was  again  unbroken.  Only  two  objects  remained  upon  the 
edge  of  the  ravine,  —  his  revolver  and  tobacco  pouch. 

A  few  minutes  elapsed.  A  fearless  blue-jay  alighted  on 
the  bank  and  made  a  prospecting  peck  at  the  tobacco  pouch. 
It  yielded  in  favor  of  a  gopher,  who  endeavored  to' draw  it 
toward  his  hole,  but  in  turn  gave  way  to  a  red  squirrel, 
whose  attention  was  divided,  however,  between  the  pouch 
and  the  revolver,  which  he  regarded  with  mischievous  fas- 
cination. Then  there  was  a  splash,  a  grunt,  a  sudden 
dispersion  of  animated  nature,  and  the  head  of  Mr.  Lance 
Harriott  appeared  above  the  bank.  It  was  a  startling  trans- 
formation. Not  only  that  he  had,  by  this  wholesale  process, 
washed  himself  and  his  light  "  drill "  garments  entirely 
clean,  but  that  he  had,  apparently  by  the  same  operation, 
morally  cleansed  himself,  and  left  every  stain  and  ugly  blot 
of  his  late  misdeeds  and  reputation  in  his  bath.  His  face, 
albeit  scratched  here  and  there,  was  rosy,  round,  shining 
with  irrepressible  good  humor  and  youthful  levity.  His 
large  blue  eyes  were  infantine  in  their  innocent  surprise  and 
thoughtlessness.  Dripping  yet  with  water,  and  panting,  he 
rested  his  elbows  lazily  on  the  bank,  and  became  instantly 
absorbed  with  a  boy's  delight  in  the  movements  of  the 
gopher,  who,  after  the  first  alarm,  returned  cautiously  to 
abduct  the  tobacco  pouch.  If  any  familiar  had  failed  to 
detect  Lance  Harriott  in  this  hideous  masquerade  of  dust 
and  grime  and  tatters,  still  less  would  any  passing  stranger 
have  recognized  in  this  blonde  faun  the  possible  outcast  and 
imirderer.  And  when  with  a  swirl  of  his  spattering  sleeve 
he  drove  back  the  gopher  in  a  shower  of  spray,  and  leaped 
lo  the  bank,  he  seemed  to  have  accepted  his  felonious 
hiding-place  as  a  mere  picnicking  bower. 

A  slight  breeze  was  unmistakably  permeating  the  wood 
from  the  west.  Looking  in  that  direction,  Lance  imagined 


FLIP:   A   CALIFORNIA   ROMANCE  299 

that  the  shadow  was  less  dark,  and  although  the  under- 
growth was  denser,  he  struck  off  carelessly  toward  it.  As 
he  went  on,  the  wood  became  lighter  and  lighter ;  branches, 
and  presently  leaves,  were  painted  against  the  vivid  blue  of 
the  sky.  He  knew  he  must  be  near  the  summit,  stopped, 
felt  for  his  revolver,  and  then  lightly  put  the  few  remaining . 
branches  aside. 

The  full  glare  of  the  noonday  sun  at  first  blinded  him. 
When  he  could  see  more  clearly,  he  found  himself  on  the 
open  western  slope  of  the  mountain,  which  in  the  Coast 
Range  was  seldom  wooded.  The  spiced  thicket  stretched 
between  him  and  the  summit,  and  again  between  him  and 
the  stage  road  that  plunges  from  the  terrace,  like  forked 
lightning  into  the  valley  below.  He  could  command  all 
the  approaches  without  being  seen.  Not  that  this  seemed 
to  occupy  his  thoughts  or  cause  him  any  anxiety.  His 
first  act  was  to  disencumber  himself  of  his  tattered  coat ; 
he  then  tilled  and  lighted  his  pipe,  and  stretched  himself 
full-length  on  the  open  hillside,  as  if  to  bleach  in  the 
fierce  sun.  While  smoking  he  carelessly  perused  the  frag- 
ment of  a  newspaper  which  had  enveloped  his  tobacco,  and 
being  struck  with  some  amusing  paragraph,  read  it  half 
aloud  again  to  some  imaginary  auditor,  emphasizing  its 
humor  with  an  hilarious  slap  upon  his  leg. 

Possibly  from  the  relaxation  of  fatigue  and  the  bath, 
which  had  become  a  vapor  one  as  he  alternately  rolled  and 
dried  himself  in  the  baking  grass,  his  eyes  closed  dreamily. 
He  was  awakened  by  the  sound  of  voices.  They  were 
distant ;  they  were  vague ;  they  approached  no  nearer. 
He  rolled  himself  to  the  verge  of  the  first  precipitous 
grassy  descent.  There  was  another  bank  or  plateau  below 
him,  and  then  a  confused  depth  of  olive  shadows,  pierced 
here  and  there  by  the  spiked  helmets  of  pines.  There 
was  no  trace  of  habitation,  yet  the  voices  were  those  of 
some  monotonous  occupation,  and  Lance  distinctly  heard 


300  FLIP:    A    CALIFORNIA   ROMANCE 

through  them  the  click  of  crockery  and  the  ring  of  some 
household  utensil.  It  appeared  to  be  the  interjectional, 
half-listless,  half-perfunctory,  domestic  dialogue  of  an  old 
man  and  a  girl,  of  which  the  words  were  unintelligible. 
Their  voices  indicated  the  solitude  of  the  mountain,  but 
without  sadness  ;  they  were  mysterious  without  being  awe- 
inspiring.  They  might  have  uttered  the  dreariest  common- 
places, but  in  their  vast  isolation  they  seemed  musical  arid 
eloquent.  Lance  drew  his  first  sigh,  —  they  had  suggested 
dinner. 

Careless  as  his  nature  was,  he  was  too  cautious  to  risk 
detection  in  broad  daylight.  He  contented  himself  for 
the  present  with  endeavoring  to  locate  that  particular  part 
of  the  depths  from  which  the  voices  seemed  to  rise.  It 
was  more  difficult,  however,  to  select  some  other  way  of 
penetrating  it  than  by  the  stage  road.  "  They  're  bound 
to  have  a  fire  or  show  a  light  when  it 's  dark,"  he  reasoned^ 
and,  satisfied  with  that  reflection,  lay  down  again.  Pres- 
ently' he  began  to  amuse  himself  by  tossing  some  silver 
coins  in  the  air.  Then  his  attention  was  directed  to  a 
spur  of  the  Coast  Range  which  had  been  sharply  silhouetted 
against  the  cloudless  western  sky.  Something  intensely 
white,  something  so  small  that  it  was  scarcely  larger  than 
the  silver  coin  in  his  hand,  was  appearing  in  a  slight  cleft 
of  the-range. 

While  he  looked  it  gradually  filled  and  obliterated  the. 
cleft.  In  another  moment  the  whole  serrated  line  of 
mountain  had  disappeared.  The  den&e,  dazzling  white, 
encompassing  host  began  to  pour  over  and  down  every 
ravine  and  pass  of  the  coast.  Lance  recognized  the  sea- 
fog,  and  knew  that  scarcely  twenty  miles  away  lay  the 
ocean  —  and  safety  !  The  drooping  sun  was  now  caught 
and  hidden  in  its  soft  embraces.  A  sudden  chill  breathed 
over  the  mountain.  He  shivered,  rose,  and  plunged  again 
for  very  warmth  into  the  spice-laden  thicket.  The  heated 


FLIP:    A   CALIFORNIA   ROMANCE  301 

balsamic  air  began  to  affect  him  like  a  powerful  sedative : 
his  hunger  was  forgotten  in  the  languor  of  fatigue ;  he 
slumbered.  When  he  awoke  it  was  dark.  He  groped 
his  way  through  the  thicket.  A  few  stars  were  shining 
directly  above  him,  but  beyond  and  below,  everything  was 
lost  in  the  soft,  white,  fleecy  veil  of  fog.  Whatever  light 
or  fire  might  have  betokened  human  habitation  was  hidden. 
To  push  on  blindly  would  be  madness ;  he  could  only 
wait  for  morning.  It  suited  the  outcast's  lazy  philosophy. 
He  crept  back  again  to  his  bed  in  the  hollow,  and  slept. 
In  that  profound  silence  and  shadow,  shut  out  from  human 
association  and  sympathy  by  the  ghostly  fog,  what  tortur- 
ing visions  conjured  up  by  remorse  and  fear  should  have 
pursued  him  ?  What  spirit  passed  before  him,  or  slowly 
shaped  itself  out  of  the  infinite  blackness  of  the  wood  ? 
None.  As  he  slipped  gently  into  that  blackness  he  remem- 
bered, with  a  slight  regret,  some  biscuits  that  were  dropped 
from  the  coach  by  a  careless  luncheon-consuming  passenger. 
That  pang  over,  he  slept  as  sweetly,  as  profoundly,  as 
divinely,  as  a  child. 


CHAPTEK  II 

HE  awoke  with  the  aroma  of  the  woods  still  steeping 
his  senses.  His  first  instinct  was  that  of  all  young  ani- 
mals :  he  seized  a  few  of  the  young,  tender  green  leaves 
of  the  yerba  buena  vine  that  crept  over  his  mossy  pillow, 
and  ate  them,  being  rewarded  by  a  half  berry-like  flavor 
that  seemed  to  soothe  the  cravings  of  his  appetite.  The 
languor  of  sleep  being  still  upon  him,  he  lazily  watched 
the  quivering  of  a  sxinbeam  that  was  caught  in  the  canopy- 
ing boughs  above.  Then  he  dozed  again.  Hovering  be- 
tween sleeping  and  waking,  he  became  conscious  of  a  slight 
movement  among  the  dead  leaves  on  the  bank  beside  the 
hollow  in  which  he  lay.  The  movement  appeared  to  be 
intelligent,  and  directed  toward  his  revolver,  which  glit- 
tered on  the  bank.  Amused  at  this  evident  return  of  his 
larcenious  friend  of  the  previous  day,  he  lay  perfectly  still. 
The  movement  and  rustle  continued,  and  it  now  seemed 
long  and  undulating.  Lance's  eyes  suddenly  became  set ; 
he  was  intensely,  keenly  awake.  It  was  not  a  snake,  but 
the  hand  of  a  human  arm,  half  hidden  in  the  moss,  groping 
for  the  weapon.  In  that  flash  of  perception  he  saw  that  it 
was  small,  bare,  and  deeply  freckled.  In  an  instant  he 
grasped  it  firmly,  and  rose  to  his  feet,  dragging  to  his,  own 
level  as  he  did  so,  the  struggling  figure  of  a  young  girl. 

"  Leave  me  go !  "  she  said,  more  ashamed  than  fright- 
ened. 

Lance  looked  at  her.  She  was  scarcely  more  than 
fifteen,  slight  and  lithe,  with  a  boyish  flatness  of  breast 
and  back.  Her  flushed  face  and  bare  throat  were  abso- 


FLIP:    A   CALIFORNIA    ROMANCE  303 

lutely  peppered  with  minute  brown  freckles,  like  grains  of 
spent  gunpowder.  Her  eyes,  which  were  large  and  gray, 
presented  the  singular  spectacle  of  being  also  freckled,  — 
at  least  they  were  shot  through  in  pupil  and  cornea  with 
tiny  spots  like  powdered  allspice.  Her  hair  was  even 
more  remarkable  in  its  tawny  deerskin  color,  full  of 
lighter  shades,  and  bleached  to  the  faintest  of  blondes  on 
the  crown  of  her  head,  as  if  by  the  action  of  the  sun. 
She  had  evidently  outgrown  her  dress,  which  was  made 
for  a  smaller  child,  and  the  too  brief  skirt  disclosed  a  bare, 
freckled,  and  sandy  desert  of  shapely  limb,  for  which  the 
darned  stockings  were  equally  too  scant.  Lance  let  his 
grasp  slip  from  her  thin  wrist  to  her  hand,  and  then  with 
a  good-humored  gesture  tossed  it  lightly  back  to  her. 

She  did  not  retreat,  but  continued  looking  at  him  in  a 
half-surly  embarrassment. 

"  I  ain't  a  bit  frightened,"  she  said ;  "  I  'm  not  going  to 
run  away,  —  don't  you  fear." 

"  Glad  to  hear  it,"  said  Lance,  with  unmistakable  satis- 
faction, "  but  why  did  you  go  for  my  revolver  ?  " 

She  flushed  again,  and  was  silent.  Presently  she  be- 
gan to  kick  the  earth  at  the  roots  of  the  tree,  and  said,  as 
if  confidentially  to  her  foot  :  — 

"  I  wanted  to  get  hold  of  it  before  you  did." 

"  You  did  ?  —  and  why  ?  " 

"  Oh,  you  know  why." 

Every  tooth  in  Lance's  head  showed  that  he  did,  per- 
fectly. But  he  was  discreetly  silent. 

"  I  did  n't  know  what  you  were  hiding  there  for,"  she 
went  on,  still  addressing  the  tree,  "  and,"  looking  at  him 
sideways  under  her  white  lashes,  "  I  did  n't  see  your 
face." 

This  subtle  compliment  was  the  first  suggestion  of  her 
artful  sex.  It  actually  sent  the  blood  into  the  careless 
rascal's  face,  and  for  a  moment  confused  him.  He  coughed. 


304  FLIP:    A   CALIFORNIA   ROMANCE 

"  So  you  thought  you  'd  freeze  on  to  that  six-shooter  of 
mine  until  you  saw  my  hand  ?  " 

She  nodded.  Then  she  picked  up  a  broken  hazel 
branch,  fitted  it  into  the  small  of  her  back,  threw  her 
tanned  bare  arms  over  the  ends  of  it,  and  expanded  her 
chest  and  her  biceps  at  the  same  moment.  This  simple 
action  was  supposed  to  convey  an  impression  at  once  of 
ease  and  muscular  force. 

"  Perhaps  you  'd  like  to  take  it  now,"  said  Lance,  hand- 
ing her  the  pistol. 

"  I  've  seen  six-shooters  before  now,"  said  the  girl,  evad- 
ing the  proffered  weapon  and  its  suggestion.  "  Dad  has 
one,  and  my  brother  had  two  derringers  before  he  was  half 
us  big  as  me." 

She  stopped  to  observe  in  her  companion  the  effect  of 
this  capacity  of  her  family  to  bear  arms.  Lance  only  re- 
garded her  amusedly.  Presently  she  again  spoke  abruptly  : 

"  What  made  you  eat  that  grass,  just  now  ?  " 

"  Grass !  "  echoed  Lance. 

"Yes,  there,"  pointing  to  the  yerba  buena. 

Lance  laughed.  "  I  was  hungry.  Look  !  "  he  said, 
gayly  tossing  some  silver  into  the  air.  "  Do  you  think 
you  could  get  me  some  breakfast  for  that,  and  have  enough 
left  to  buy  something  for  yourself  ?  " 

The  girl  eyed  the  money  and  the  man  with  half-bashful 
curiosity. 

"I  reckon  dad  might  give  ye  suthing  if  he  had  a  mind 
ter,  though  ez  a  rule  he  's  down  on  tramps  ever  since  they 
run  off  his  chickens.  Ye  might  try." 

"But  I  want  you  to  try.     You  can  bring  it  to  me  here." 

The  girl  retreated  a  step,  dropped  her  eyes,  and,  with  a 
smile  that  was  a  charming  hesitation  between  bashfulness 
and  impudence,  said  :  "  So  you  are  hidin',  are  ye  ?  " 

"  That 's  just  it.  Your  head's  level.  I  am,"  laughed 
Lance  unconcernedly. 


SHE   PICKED   UP  A   BROKEN  HAZEL  BRANCH 


FLIP:    A   CALIFORNIA   ROMANCE  305 

"  Yur  ain't  one  o'  the  McCarthy  gang  —  are  ye  ?  " 

Mr.  Lance  Harriott  felt  a  momentary  moral  exaltation 
in  declaring  truthfully  that  he  was  not  one  of  a  notorious 
band  of  mountain  freebooters  known  in  the  district  under 
that  name. 

"Nor  ye  ain't  one  of  them  chicken-lifters  that  raided 
Henderson's  ranch  ?  We  don't  go  much  on  that  kind  o' 
cattle  yer." 

"  No,"  said  Lance  cheerfully. 

"  Nor  ye  ain't  that  chap  ez  beat  his  wife  unto  death  at 
Santa  Clara  ?  " 

Lance  honestly  scorned  the  imputation.  Such  conjugal 
ill  treatment  as  he  had  indulged  in  had  not  been  physical, 
and  had  been  with  other  men's  wives. 

There  was  a  moment's  further  hesitation  on  the  part  of 
the  girl.  Then  she  said  shortly  :  — 

"  Well,  then,  I  reckon  you  kin  come  along  with  me." 

"  Where  ?  "  asked  Lance. 

"  To  the  ranch,"  she  replied  simply. 

"  Then  you  won't  bring  me  anything  to  eat  here  ?  " 

"What  for  ?  You  kin  get  it  down  there."  Lance  hesi- 
tated. "I  tell  you  it's  all  right,"  she  continued.  "I'll 
make  it  all  right  with  dad." 

"  But  suppose  I  reckon  I  'd  rather  stay  here,"  persisted 
Lance,  with  a  perfect  consciousness,  however,  of  affectation 
in  his  caution. 

"  Stay  away  then,"  said  the  girl  coolly ;  "  only  as  dad 
perempted  this  yer  woods  "  — 

"Pre-empted,"  suggested  Lance. 

"  Per-empted  or  pre-emp-ted,  as  you  like,"  continued 
the  girl  scornfully,  — "  ez  he 's  got  a  holt  on  this  yer 
woods,  ye  might  ez  well  see  him  down  thar  ez  here.  For 
here  he 's  like  to  come  any  minit.  You  can  bet  your  life 
on  that." 

She  must  have  read  Lance's  amusement  in  his  eyes,  for 


306  FLIP:    A   CALIFORNIA   ROMANCE 

he  again  dropped  her  own  with  a  frown  of  brusque  embar- 
,assment.  "  Come  along,  then ;  I  'm  your  man,"  said 
Lance  gayly,  extending  his  hand. 

She  would  not  accept  it,  eying  it,  however,  furtively, 
like  a  horse  about  to  shy.  "  Hand  me  your  pistol  first," 
she  said. 

He  handed  it  to  her  with  an  assumption  of  gayety. 
She  received  it  on  her  part  with  unfeigned  seriousness,  and 
threw  it  over  her  shoulder  like  a  gun.  This  combined 
action  of  the  child  and  heroine,  it  is  quite  unnecessary  to 
say,  afforded  Lance  undiluted  joy. 

"  You  go  first,"  she  said. 

Lance  stepped  promptly  out,  with  a  broad  grin.  "  Looks 
kinder  as  if  I  was  a  pris'ner,  don't  it  ?  "  he  suggested. 

"  Go  on,  and  don't  fool,"  she  replied. 

The  two  fared  onward  through  the  wood.  For  one  mo- 
ment he  entertained  the  facetious  idea  of  appearing  to  rush 
frantically  away,  "just  to  see  what  the  girl  would  do,"  but 
abandoned  it.  "  It 's  an  even  thing  if  she  would  n't  spot 
me  the  first  pop,"  he  reflected  admiringly. 

When  they  had  reached  the  open  hillside,  Lance  stopped 
inquiringly.  "  This  way,"  she  said,  pointing  toward  the 
summit,  and  in  quite  an  opposite  direction  to  the  valley 
where  he  had  heard  the  voices,  one  of  which  he  now  recog- 
nized as  hers.  They  skirted  the  thicket  for  a  few  moments, 
and  then  turned  sharply  into  a  trail  which  began  to  dip 
toward  a  ravine  leading  to  the  valley. 

"  Why  do  you  have  to  go  all  the  way  round  ? "  he 
asked. 

"  We  don't,"  the  girl  replied  with  emphasis ;  "  there 's  a 
shorter  cut." 

"  Where  ?  " 

"  That 's  telling,"  she  answered  shortly. 

"  What 's  your  name  ? "  asked  Lance,  after  a  steep 
scramble  and  a  drop  into  the  ravine. 


FLIP  :    A   CALIFORNIA   ROMANCE  307 

"Flip." 

"  What  ?  " 

"  Flip." 

"  I  mean  your  first  name,  —  your  front  name." 

"Flip." 

"Flip  !     Oh,  short  for  Felipa  !  " 

"  It  ain't  Flipper,  —  it 's  Flip."     And  she  relapsed  into' 
silence. 

"  You  don't  ask  me  mine  ?  "  suggested  Lance. 

She  did  not  vouchsafe  a  reply. 

"  Then  you  don't  want  to  know  ?  " 

"  Maybe  dad  will.     You  can  lie  to  him." 

This  direct  answer  apparently  sustained  the  agreeable 
homicide  for  some  moments.  He  moved  onward,  silently 
exuding  admiration. 

"Only,"  added  Flip,  with  a  sudden  caution,  "you'd 
better  agree  with  me." 

The  trail  here  turned  again  abruptly  and  reentered  the 
canon.  Lance  looked  up,  and  noticed  they  were  almost 
directly  beneath  the  bay  thicket  and  the  plateau  that 
towered  far  above  them.  The  trail  here  showed  signs  of 
clearing,  and  the  way  was  marked  by  felled  trees  and 
stumps  of  pines. 

"  What  does  your  father  do  here  ?  "  he  finally  asked. 
Flip  remained  silent,  swinging  the  revolver.  Lance  re- 
peated his  question. 

"  Burns  charcoal  and  makes  diamonds,"  said  Flip,  look- 
ing at  him  from  the  corners  of  her  eyes. 

"  Makes  diamonds  ?  "   echoed  Lance. 

Flip  nodded  her  head. 

"  Many  of  'em  ?  "  he  continued  carelessly. 

"  Lots.  .  But  they  're  not  big,"  she  returned,  with  a 
sidelong  glance. 

"  Oh,  they  're  not  big  ?  "  said  Lance  gravely. 

They  had  by  this  time  reached  a  small  staked  inclosure, 


308  FLIP:    A   CALIFORNIA    ROMANCE 

whence  the  sudden  fluttering  and  cackle  of  poultry  wel- 
comed the  return  of  the  evident  mistress  of  this  sylvan 
retreat.  It  was  scarcely  imposing.  Further  on,  a  cooking- 
stove  under  a  tree,  a  saddle  and  bridle,  a  few  household 
implements  scattered  about,  indicated  the  "  ranch."  Like 
most  pioneer  clearings,  it  was  simply  a  disorganized  raid 
upon  nature  that  had  left  behind  a  desolate  battlefield 
strewn  with  waste  and  decay.  The  fallen  trees,  the  crushed 
thicket,  the  splintered  limbs,  the  rudely  torn-up  soil,  were 
made  hideous  by  their  grotesque  juxtaposition  with  the 
wrecked  fragments  of  civilization,  in  empty  cans,  broken 
bottles,  battered  hats,  soleless  boots,  frayed  stockings,  cast- 
off  rags,  and  the  crowning  absurdity  of  the  twisted-wire 
skeleton  of  a  hooped  skirt  hanging  from  a  branch.  The 
wildest  defile,  the  densest  thicket,  the  most  virgin  solitude, 
was  less  dreary  and  forlorn  than  this  first  footprint  of  man. 
The  only  redeeming  feature  of  this  prolonged  bivouac  was 
the  cabin  itself.  Built  of  the  half-cylindrical  strips  of  pine 
bark,  and  thatched  with  the  same  material,  it  had  a  certain 
picturesque  rusticity.  But  this  was  an  accident  of  economy 
rather  than  taste,  for  which  Flip  apologized  by  saying  that 
the  bark  of  the  pine  was  "  no  good  "  for  charcoal. 

"  I  reckon  dad 's  in  the  woods,"  she  added,  pausing 
before  the  open  door  of  the  cabin.  "  Oh,  dad ! "  Her 
voice,  clear  and  high,  seemed  to  fill  the  whole  long  canon, 
and  echoed  from  the  green  plateau  above.  The  monot- 
onous strokes  of  an  axe  were  suddenly  intermitted,  and 
somewhere  from  the  depths  of  the  close-set  pines  a  voice 
answered  "  Flip."  There  was  a  pause  of  a  few  moments, 
with  some  muttering,  stumbling,  and  crackling  in  the  un- 
derbrush, and  then  the  appearance  of  "  dad." 

Had  Lance  first  met  him  in  the  thicket,  he  would  have 
been  puzzled  to  assign  his  race  to  Mongolian,  Indian,  or 
Ethiopian  origin.  Perfunctory  but  incomplete  washings 
of  his  hands  and  face,  after  charcoal  burning,  had  gradu- 


FLIP:    A   CALIFORNIA   ROMANCE  309 

ally  ground  into  his  skin  a  grayish  slate-pencil  pallor, 
grotesquely  relieved  at  the  edges,  where  the  washing  had 
left  off,  with  a  border  of  a  darker  color.  He  looked  like 
an  overworked  Christy  minstrel  with  the  briefest  of  inter- 
vals between  his  performances.  There  were  black  rims 
in  the  orbits  of  his  eyes,  as  if  he  gazed  feebly  out  of  un- 
glazed'  spectacles,  which  heightened  his  simian  resem- 
blance, already  grotesquely  exaggerated  by  what  appeared 
to  be  repeated  and  spasmodic  experiments  in  dyeing  his 
gray  hair.  Without  the  slightest  notice  of  Lance,  he  in- 
flicted his  protesting  and  querulous  presence  entirely  on  his 
daughter. 

"  Well !  what 's  up  now  ?  Yer  ye  are  calling  me  from 
work  an  hour  before  noon.  Dog  my  skin,  ef  I  ever  get 
fairly  limbered  up  afore  it 's  '  Dad  !  '  and  '  Oh,  dad.  ' 

To  Lance's  intense  satisfaction  the  girl  received  this 
harangue  with  an  air  of  supreme  indifference,  and  when 
"  dad "  had  relapsed  into  an  unintelligible,  and,  as  it 
seemed  to  Lance,  a  half-frightened  muttering,  she  said 
coolly,  — 

"  Ye  'd  better  drop  that  axe  and  scoot  round  gettin'  this 
stranger  some  breakfast  and  some  grub  to  take  with  him. 
He  's  one  of  them  San  Francisco  sports  out  here  trout-fish- 
ing in  the  branch.  He  's  got  adrift  from  his  party,  has 
lost  his  rod  and  fixin's,  and  had  to  camp  out  last  night  in 
the  Gin  and  Ginger  Woods." 

"  That 's  just  it;  it 's  allers  suthin'  like  that,"  screamed 
the  old  man,  dashing  his  fist  on  his  leg  in  a  feeble,  im- 
potent passion,  but  without  looking  at  Lance.  "  Why  in 
blazes  don't  he  go  up  to  that  there  blamed  hotel  on  the 
summit?  Why  in  thunder"  —  But  here  he  caught  his 
daughter's  large,  freckled  eyes  full  in  his  own.  He  blinked 
feebly,  his  voice  fell  into  a  tone  of  whining  entreaty. 
"Now,  look  yer,  Flip,  it's  playing  it  rather  low  down  on 
the  old  man,  this  yer  running  in  o'  tramps  and  desarted 


310  FLIP:    A   CALIFORNIA   ROMANCE 

emigrants  and  cast-ashore  sailors  and  forlorn  widders  and 
ravin'  lunatics,  on  this  yer  ranch.  I  put  it  to  you,  mister," 
he  said  abruptly,  turning  to  Lance  for  the  first  time,  hut  as 
if  he  had  already  taken  an  active  part  in  the  conversation,  — 
"  I  put  it  as  a  gentleman  yourself,  and  a  fair-minded  sportin' 
man,  if  this  is  the  square  thing  ?  " 

Before  Lance  could  reply,  Flip  had  already  begun. 
"  That's  just  it!  D'  ye  reckon,  being  a  sportin'  man  and 
a  A  1  feller,  he 's  goin'  to  waltz  down  inter  that  hotel, 
rigged  out  ez  he  is  ?  D'  ye  reckon  he  's  goin'  to  let  his 
partners  get  the  laugh  onter  him  ?  D'  ye  reckon  he 's 
goin'  to  show  his  head  outer  this  yer  ranch  till  he  can  do  it 
square  ?  Not  much !  Go  'long.  Dad,  you  're  talking 
silly!" 

The  old  man  weakened.  He  feebly  trailed  his  axe  be- 
tween his  legs  to  a  stump  and  sat  down,  wiping  his  fore- 
head with  his  sleeve,  and  imparting  to  it  the  appearance 
of  a  slate  with  a  difficult  sum  partly  rubbed  out.  He 
looked  despairingly  at  Lance.  "  In  course,"  he  said,  with 
a  deep  sigh,  "  you  naturally  ain't  got  any  money.  In 
course  you  left  your  pocketbook,  containing  fifty  dollars, 
under  a  stone,  and  can't  find  it.  In  course,"  he  continued, 
as  he  observed  Lance  put  his  hand  to  his  pocket,  "  you  've 
only  got  a  blank  check  on  Wells,  Fargo  &  Co.  for  a  hundred 
dollars,  and  you  'd  like  me  to  give  you  the  difference  ?  " 

Amused  as  Lance  evidently  was  at  this,  his  absolute 
admiration  for  Flip  absorbed  everything  else.  With  his 
eyes  fixed  upon  the  girl,  he  briefly  assured  the  old  man 
that  he  would  pay  for  everything  he  wanted.  He  did  this 
with  a  manner  quite  different  from  the  careless,  easy  attitude 
he  had  assumed  toward  Flip ;  at  least  the  quick-witted  girl 
noticed  it,  and  wondered  if  he  was  angry.  It  was  quite 
true  that  ever  since  his  eye  had  fallen  upon  another  of  his 
own  sex,  its  glance  had  been  less  frank  and  careless.  Cer- 
tain traits  of  possible  impatience,  which  might  develop  into 


FLIP:    A   CALIFORNIA   ROMANCE  311 

manslaying,  were  coming  to  the  fore.  Yet  a  word  or  a 
gesture  of  Flip's  was  sufficient  to  change  that  manner ;  and 
when,  with  the  fretful  assistance  of  her  father,  she  had  pre- 
pared a  somewhat  sketchy  and  primitive  repast,  he  ques- 
tioned the  old  man  about  diamond-making.  The  eye  of 
dad  kindled. 

"  I  want  ter  know  how  ye  knew  I  was  making  dia- 
monds," he  asked,  with  a  certain  bashful  pettishness  not 
unlike  his  daughter's. 

"  Heard  it  in  'Frisco,"  replied  Lance,  with  glib  men- 
dacity, glancing  at  the  girl. 

"  I  reckon  they  're  gettin'  sort  of  skeert  down  there  — 
them  jewelers,"  chuckled  dad ;  "  yet  it 's  in  nater  that 
their  figgers  will  have  to  come  down.  It 's  only  a  ques- 
tion of  the  price  of  charcoal.  I  suppose  they  did  n't  tell 
you  how  I  made  the  discovery  ?  " 

Lance  would  have  stopped  the  old  man's  narrative  by 
saying  that  he  knew  the  story,  but  he  wished  to  see  how 
far  Flip  lent  herself  to  her  father's  delusion. 

"  Ye  see,  one  night  about  two  years  ago  I  had  a  pit  o' 
charcoal  burning  out  there,  and  tho'  it  had  been  a-smoulder- 
ing  arid  a-smoking  and  a-blazing  for  nigh  on  to  a  month,  some- 
how it  did  n't  charcoal  worth  a  cent.  And  yet,  dog  my 
skin,  but  the  heat  o'  that  er  pit  was  suthin'  hidyus  and 
frightful ;  ye  could  n't  stand  within  a  hundred  yards  of  it, 
and  they  could  feel  it  on  the  stage  road  three  miles  ever 
yon,  t'  other  side  the  mountain.  There  was  nights  when 
me  and  Flip  had  to  take  our  blankets  up  the  ravine  and 
camp  out  all  night,  and  the  back  of  this  yer  hut  shriveled 
up  like  that  bacon.  It  was  about  as  nigh  on  to  hell  as  any 
sample  ye  kin  get  here.  Now,  mebbe  you  think  I  built 
that  air  fire  ?  Mebbe  you'll  allow  the  heat  was  just  the 
nat'ral  burning  of  that  pit  ?  " 

"Certainly,"  said  Lance,  trying  to  see  Flip's  eye&, 
which  were  resolutely  averted. 


312  FLIP:    A   CALIFORNIA   ROMANCE 

"  Thet  's  whar  you  'd  be  lyin' !  That  yar  heat  kem  out 
of  the  bowels  of  the  yearth,  —  kem  up  like  out  of  a  chim- 
bley  or  a  blast,  and  kep'  up  that  yar  fire.  And  when  she 
cools  down  a  month  after,  and  I  got  to  strip  her,  there  was 
a  hole  in  the  yearth,  and  a  spring  o'  bilin',  scaldin'  water 
pourin'  out  of  it  ez  big  as  your  waist.  And  right  in  the 
middle  of  it  was  this  yer."  He  rose  with  the  instinct  of  s 
skillful  raconteur,  and  whisked  from  under  his  bunk  a 
chamois  leather  bag,  which  he  emptied  on  the  table  before 
them. 

It  contained  a  small  fragment  of  native  rock  crystal, 
half-fused  upon  a  petrified  bit  of  pine.  It  was  so  glaringly 
truthful,  so  really  what  it  purported  to  be,  that  the  most 
unscientific  woodman  or  pioneer  would  have  understood  it 
at  a  glance.  Lance  raised  his  mirthful  eyes  to  Flip. 

"  It  was  cooled  suddint,  —  stunted  by  the  water,"  said 
the  girl  eagerly.  She  stopped,  and  as  abruptly  turned 
away  her  eyes  and  her  reddened  face. 

"That's  it, —  that's  just  it,"  continued  the  old  man. 
"  Thar 's  Flip,  thar,  knows  it ;  she  ain't  no  fool !  "  Lance 
did  not  speak,  but  turned  a  hard,  unsympathizing  look 
upon  the  old  man,  and  rose  almost  roughly.  The  old  man 
clutched  his  coat.  "  That 's  it,  ye  see.  The  carbon 's 
just  turning  to  di'mens.  And  stunted.  And  why  ?  'Cos 
the  heat  was  n't  kep'  up  long  enough.  Mebbe  yer  think 
I  stopped  thar  ?  That  ain't  me.  Thar  's  a  pit  out  yar  in 
the  woods  ez  hez  been  burning  six  months  ;  it  hain't,  in 
course,  got  the  advantages  o'  the  old  one,  for  it 's  nat'ral 
heat.  But  I  'm  keeping  that  heat  up.  I  've  got  a  hole 
where  I  kin  watch  it  every  four  hours.  When  the  time 
comes,  I  'm  thar  !  Don't  you  see  ?  That 's  me  !  that 's 
David  Fairley,  —  that 's  the  old  man,  —  you  bet !  " 

"  That 's  so,"  said  Lance  curtly.  "  And  now,  Mr. 
Fairley,  if  you  '11  hand  me  over  a  coat  or  jacket  till  I  can 
get  past  these  fogs  on  the  Monterey  road,  I  won't  keep  you 


FLIP:    A   CALIFORNIA    ROMANCE  313 

from  your  diamond  pit."  He  threw  down  a  handful  of 
silver  on  the  table. 

"  Ther  's  a  deerskin  jacket  yer,"  said  the  old  man,  "  that 
one  o'  them  vaqueros  left  for  the  price  of  a  bottle  of  whis- 
key." 

"  I  reckon  it  would  n't  suit  the  stranger,"  said  Flip, 
dubiously  producing  a  much-worn,  slashed,  and  braided 
vaquero's  jacket.  But  it  did  suit  Lance,  who  found  it 
warm,  and  also  had  suddenly  found  a  certain  satisfaction  in 
opposing  Flip.  When  lie  had  put  it  on,  and  nodded  coldly 
to  the  old  man,  and  carelessly  to  Flip,  he  walked  to  the  door. 

"  If  you  're  going  to  take  the  Monterey  road,  I  can  show 
you  a  short  cut  to  it,"  said  Flip,  with  a  certain  kind  of  shy 
civility. 

The  paternal  Fairley  groaned.  "That's  it;  let  the 
chickens  and  the  ranch  go  to  thunder,  as  long  as  there 's 
a  stranger  to  trapse  round  with  ;  go  on  !  " 

Lance  would  have  made  some  savage  reply,  but  Flip 
interrupted.  "  You  know  yourself,  dad,  it 's  a  blind  trail, 
and  as  that  'ere  constable  that  kem  out  here  hunting 
French  Pete,  could  n't  find  it,  and  had  to  go  round  by  the 
canon,  like  ez  not  the  stranger  would  lose  his  way,  and 
have  to  come  back  !  "  This  dangerous  prospect  silenced 
the  old  man,  and  Flip  and  Lance  stepped  into  the  road 
together.  They  walked  on  for  some  moments  without 
speaking.  Suddenly  Lance  turned  upon  his  companion. 

"  You  did  n't  swallow  all  that  rot  about  the  diamond, 
did  you  ?  "  he  asked  crossly. 

Flip  ran  a  little  ahead,  as  if  to  avoid  a  reply. 

"You  don't  mean  to  say  that's  the  sort  of  hog  wash 
the  old  man  serves  out  to  you  regularly  ? "  continued 
Lance,  becoming  more  slangy  in  his  ill  temper. 

"  I  don't  know  that  it 's  any  consarn  o'  yours  what  I 
think,"  replied  Flip,  hopping  from  boulder  to  boulder,  as 
they  crossed  the  bed  of  a  dry  watercourse. 


314  FLIP:   A   CALIFORNIA   ROMANCE 

"  And  I  suppose  you  've  piloted  round  and  dry-nussed 
every  tramp  and  dead-beat  you  've  met  since  you  came 
here,"  continued  Lance,  with  unmistakable  ill  humor. 
'•'  How  many  have  you  helped  over  this  road  ?  " 

"  It 's  a  year  since  there  was  a  Chinaman  chased  by 
some  Irishmen  from  the  crossing  into  the  brush  about 
yer,  and  he  was  too  afeered  to  come  out,  and  nigh  most 
starved  to  death  in  thar.  I  had  to  drag  him  out  and 
start  him  on  the  mountain,  for  you  couldn't  get  him  back 
to  the  road.  He  was  the  last  one  but  you." 

"  Do  you  reckon  it 's  the  right  thing  for  a  girl  like  you 
to  run  about  with  trash  of  this  kind,  and  mix  herself  up 
with  all  sorts  of  roughs  and  bad  company  ?  "  said  Lance. 

Flip  stopped  short.  "  Look  !  if  you  're  goin'  to  talk 
like  dad,  I  '11  go  back." 

The  ridiculousness  of  such  a  resemblance  struck  him 
more  keenly  than  a  consciousness  of  his  own  ingratitude. 
He  hastened  to  assure  Flip  that  he  was  joking.  When  he 
had  made  his  peace  they  fell  into  talk  again,  Lance  becom- 
ing unselfish  enough  to  inquire  into  one  or  two  facts  con- 
cerning her  life  which  did  not  immediately  affect  him. 
Her  mother  had  died  on  the  plains  when  she  was  a  baby, 
and  her  brother  had  run  away  from  home  at  twelve'.  She 
fully  expected  to  see  him  again,  and  thought  he  might 
some  time  stray  into  their  canon.  "  That  is  why,  then,  you 
take  so  much  stock  in  tramps,"  said  Lance.  "  You  expect 
to  recognize  him  ?  " 

"Well,"  replied  Flip  gravely  "there  is  suthing  in  that, 
and  there 's  suthing  in  this  :  some  o'  these  chaps  might 
run  across  brother  and  do  him  a  good  turn  for  the  sake  of 
me." 

"  Like  me,  for  instance  ?  "  suggested  Lance. 

"  Like  you.  You  'd  do  him  a  good  turn,  would  n't 
you  ?  " 

"  You  bet !  "  said  Lance,  with  a  sudden  emotion  that 


FLIP:    A   CALIFORNIA   ROMANCE  315 

quite  startled  him ;  "  only  don't  you  go  to  throwing  your- 
self round  promiscuously."  He  was  half  conscious  of  an 
irritating  sense  of  jeal'ousy,  as  he  asked  if  any  of  her 
protege's  had  ever  returned. 

"  No,"  said  Flip,  "  no  one  ever  did.  It  shows,"  she 
added  with  sublime  simplicity,  "  I  had  done  'em  good, 
and  they  could  get  on  alone.  Don't  it  ?  " 

"  It  does,"  responded  Lance  grimly.  "  Have  you  any 
other  friends  that  come  ?  " 

"  Only  the  Postmaster  at  the  Crossing." 

"  The  Postmaster  ?  " 

"  Yes  ;  he  's  reckonin'  to  marry  me  next  year,  if  I  'm 
big  enough." 

"  And  what  do  you  reckon  ?  "  asked  Lance  earnestly. 

Flip  began  a  series  of  distortions  with  her  shoulders, 
ran  on  ahead,  picked  up  a  few  pebbles  and  threw  them 
into  the  Avood,  glanced  back  at  Lance  with  swimming 
mottled  eyes,  that  seemed  a  piquant  incarnation  of  every- 
thing suggestive  and  tantalizing,  and  said  :  — 

"  That 's  telling." 

They  had  by  this  time  reached  the  spot  where  they 
were  to  separate.  "  Look,"  said  Flip,  pointing  to  a  faint 
deflection  of  their  path,  which  seemed,  however,  to  lose 
itself  in  the  underbrush  a  dozen  yards  away ;  "  ther  's 
your  trail.  It  gets  plainer  and  broader  the  further  you 
get  on,  but  you  must  use  your  eyes  here,  and  get  to  know 
it  well  afore  you  get  into  the  fog.  Good-by." 

"Good-by."  Lance  took  her  hand  and  drew  her  beside 
him.  She  was  still  redolent  of  the  spices  of  the  thicket, 
and  to  the  young  man's  excited  fancy  seemed  at  that 
moment  to  personify  the  perfume  and  intoxication  of  her 
native  woods.  Half  laughingly,  half  earnestly,  he  tried  to 
kiss  her;  she  struggled  for  some  time  strongly,  but  at  the 
last  moment  yielded,  with  a  slight  return  and  the  exchange 
of  a  subtle  fire  that  thrilled  him,  and  left  him  standing  con- 


316  FLIP  :   A  CALIFORNIA  ROMANCE 

fused  and  astounded  as  she  ran  away.  He  watched  her 
lithe,  nymph-like  figure  disappear  in  the  checkered  shadows 
of  the  wood,  and  then  he  turned  briskly  down  the  half-hid- 
den trail.  His  eyesight  was  keen,  he  made  good  progress, 
and  was  soon  well  on  his  way  toward  the  distant  ridge. 

But  Flip's  return  had  not  heen  as  rapid.  When  she 
reached  the  wood  she  crept  to  its  beetling  verge,  and  look- 
ing across  the  canon  watched  Lance's  figure  as  it  vanished 
and  reappeared  in  the  shadows  and  sinuosities  of  the  ascent. 
When  he  reached  the  ridge  the  outlying  fog  crept  across 
the  summit,  caught  him  in  its  embrace,  and  wrapped  him 
from  her  gaze.  Flip  sighed,  raised  herself,  put  her  alter- 
nate foot  on  a  stump,  and  took  a  long  pull  at  her  too-brief 
stockings.  When  she  had  pulled  down  her  skirt  and  en- 
deavored once  more  to  renew  the  intimacy  that  had  existed 
in  previous  years  between  the  edge  of  her  petticoat  and  the 
top  of  her  stockings,  she  sighed  again,,  and  went  home. 


CHAPTER   HI 

FOB  six  months  the  sea  fogs  monotonously  came  and 
went  along  the  Monterey  coast ;  for  six  months  they  be- 
leaguered the  Coast  Range  with  afternoon  sorties  of  white 
hosts  that  regularly  swept  over  the  mountain  crest,  and 
were  as  regularly  beaten  back  again  by  the  leveled  lances 
of  the  morning  sun.  For  six  months  that  white  veil  which 
had  once  hidden  Lance  Harriott  in  its  folds  returned 
Avithout  him.  For  that  amiable  outlaw  no  longer  neevded 
disguise  or  hiding-place.  The  swift  wave  of  pursuit  that 
had  dashed  him  on  the  summit  had  fallen  back,  and  the 
next  day  was  broken  and  scattered.  Before  the  week  had 
passed,  a  regular  judicial  inquiry  relieved  his  crime  of 
premeditation,  and  showed  it  to  be  a  rude  duel  of  two 
armed  and  equally  desperate  men.  From  a  secure  vantage 
in  a  seacoast  town  Lance  challenged  a  trial  by  his  peers, 
and,  as  an  already  prejudged  man  escaping  from  his  exe- 
cutioners, obtained  a  change  of  venue.  Regular  justice, 
seated  by  the  calm  Pacific,  found  the  action  of  an  interior, 
irregular  jury  rash  and  hasty.  Lance  was  liberated  on  bail. 

The  Postmaster  at  Fisher's  Crossing  had  just  received 
the  weekly  mail  and  express  from  San  Francisco,  and  was 
engaged  in  examining  it.  It  consisted  of  five  letters  and 
two  parcels.  Of  these,  three  of  the  letters  and  the  two 
parcels  were  directed  to  Flip.  It  was  not  the  first  time 
during  the  last  six  months  that  this  extraordinary  event 
had  occurred,  and  the  curiosity  of  the  Crossing  was  duly 
excited.  As  Flip  had  never  called  personally  for  the 
letters  or  parcels,  but  bad  sent  one  of  her  wild,  irregular 


318  FLIP:    A   CALIFORNIA    ROMANCE 

scouts  or  henchmen  to  bring  them,  and  as  she  was  seldom 
seen  at  the  Crossing  or  on  the  stage  road,  that  curiosity 
was  never  satisfied.  The  disappointment  to  the  Post- 
master —  a  man  past  the  middle  age  —  partook  of  a  senti- 
mental nature.  He  looked  at  the  letters  and  parcels ;  he 
looked  at  his  watch  ;  it  was  yet  early,  he  could  return  by 
noon.  He  again  examined  the  addresses ;  they  were  in 
the  same  handwriting  as  the  previous  letters.  His  mind 
was  made  up,  he  would  deliver  them  himself.  The  poetic, 
soulful  side  of  his  mission  was  delicately  indicated  by  a 
pale  blue  necktie,  a  clean  shirt,  and  a  small  package  of 
gingernuts,  of  which  Flip  was  extravagantly  fond. 

The  common  road  to  Fairley's  Ranch  was  by  the  stage 
turnpike  to  a  point  below  the  Gin  and  Ginger  Woods, 
where  the  prudent  horseman  usually  left  his  beast  and 
followed  the  intersecting  trail  afoot.  It  was  here  that 
the  Postmaster  suddenly  observed  on  the  edge  of  the 
wood  the  figure  of  an  elegantly  dressed  woman  ;  she  was 
walking  slowly,  and  apparently  at  her  ease ;  one  hand 
held  her  skirts  lightly  gathered  between  her  gloved  fin- 
gers, the  other  slowly  swung  a  riding-whip.  Was  it  a 
picnic  of  some  people  from  Monterey  or  Santa  Cruz  ?  The 
spectacle  was  novel  enough  to  justify  his  coming  nearer. 
Suddenly  she  withdrew  into  the  wood  ;  he  lost  sight  of 
her ;  she  was  gone.  He  remembered,  however,  that  Flip 
was  still  to  be  seen,  and  as  the  steep  trail  was  beginning 
to  tax  all  his  energies,  he  was  fain  to  hurry  forward.  The 
sun  was  nearly  vertical  when  he  turned  into  the  canon, 
and  saw  the  bark  roof  of  the  cabin  beyond.  At  almost 
the  same  moment  Flip  appeared,  flushed  and  panting,  in 
the  road  before  him. 

"  You  've  got  something  for  me,"  she  said,  pointing  to 
the  parcel  and  letter.  Completely  taken  by  surprise,  the 
Postmaster  mechanically  yielded  them  up,  and  as  instantly 
regretted  it.  "  They  're  paid  for,"  continued  Flip,  observ- 
ing his  hesitation. 


FLIP:    A  CALIFORNIA   ROMANCE  319 

"  That 's  so,"  stammered  the  official  of  the  Crossing, 
seeing  his  last  chance  of  knowing  the  contents  of  the 
parcel  vanish ;  "  but  I  thought  ez  it 's  a  valooable  package, 
maybe  ye  might  want  to  examine  it  to  see  that  it  was  all 
right  afore  ye  receipted  for  it." 

"  I  '11  risk  it,"  said  Flip  coolly,  "  and  if  it  ain't  right 
I'll  let  ye  know." 

As  the  girl  seemed  inclined  to  retire  with  her  property, 
the  Postmaster  was  driven  to  other  conversation.  "  We 
ain't  had  the  pleasure  of  seeing  you  down  at  the  Crossing 
for  a  month  o'  Sundays,"  he  began,  with  airy  yet  pro- 
nounced gallantry.  "  Some  folks  let  on  you  was  keepin' 
company  with  some  feller  like  Bijah  Brown,  and  you  were 
getting  a  little  too  set  up  for  the  Crossing."  The  individ- 
ual here  mentioned  being  the  county  butcher,  and  supposed 
to  exhibit  his  hopeless  affection  for  Flip  by  making  a  long 
and  useless  divergence  from  his  weekly  route  to  enter  the 
canon  for  "  orders,"  Flip  did  not  deem  it  necessary  to 
reply.  "  Then  I  allowed  how  ez  you  might  have  com- 
pany," he  continued ;  "  I  reckon  there  's  some  city  folks 
up  at  the  summit.  I  saw  a  mighty  smart,  fash'n'ble  gal 
cavorting  round.  Hed  no  end  o'  style  and  fancy  fixin's. 
That 's  my  kind,  I  tell  you.  I  just  weaken  on  that  sort 
o'  gal,"  he  continued,  in  the  firm  belief  that  he  had  awak- 
ened Flip's  jealousy,  as  he  glanced  at  her  well-worn  home- 
spun frock,  and  found  her  eyes  suddenly  fixed  on  his  own. 

"  Strange  I  ain't  got  to  see  her  yet,"  she  replied  coolly, 
shouldering  her  parcel,  and  quite  ignoring  any  sense  of 
obligation  to  him  for  his  extra-official  act. 

"  But  you  might  get  to  see  her  at  the  edge  of  the  Gin 
and  Ginger  Woods,"  he  persisted  feebly,  in  a  last  effort 
to  detain  her ;  "  if  you  '11  take  a  pasear  there  with  me." 
Flip's  only  response  was  to  walk  on  toward  the  cabin, 
whence,  with  a  vague  complimentary  suggestion  of  "  drop- 
in'  in  to  pass  the  time  o'  day  "  with  her  father,  the  Post- 
master meekly  followed. 


320  FLIP:    A   CALIFORNIA   ROMANCE 

The  paternal  Fairley,  once  convinced  that  his  daughter's 
new  companion  required  no  pecuniary  or  material  assist- 
ance from  his  hands,  relaxed  to  the  extent  of  entering 
into  a  querulous  confidence  with  him,  during  which  Flip 
took  the  opportunity  of  slipping  away.  As  Fairley  had 
that  infelicitous  tendency  of  most  weak  natures,  to  uncon- 
sciously exaggerate  unimportant  details  in  their  talk,  the 
Postmaster  presently  became  convinced  that  the  butcher 
was  a  constant  and  assiduous  suitor  of  Flip's.  The  absur- 
dity of  his  sending  parcels  and  letters  by  post  when  he 
might  bring  them  himself  did  not  strike  the  official.  On 
the  contrary,  he  believed  it  to  be  a  master-stroke  of  cunning. 
Fired  by  jealousy  and  Flip's  indifference,  he  "  deemed  it 
his  duty  "  —  using  that  facile  form  of  cowardly  offensive- 
ness  —  to  betray  Flip. 

Of  which  she  was  happily  oblivious.  Once  away  from 
the  cabin,  she  plunged  into  the  woods,  with  the  parcel 
swung  behind  her  like  a  knapsack.  Leaving  the  trail, 
she  presently  struck  off  in  a  straight  line  through  cover 
and  underbrush  with  the  unerring  instinct  of  an  animal, 
climbing  hand  over  hand  the  steepest  ascent,  or  fluttering 
like  a  bird  from  branch  to  branch  down  the  deepest  decliv- 
ity. She  soon  reached  that  part  of  the  trail  where  the 
susceptible  Postmaster  had  seen  the  fascinating  unknown. 
Assuring  herself  she  was  not  followed,  she  crept  through 
the  thicket  until  she  reached  a  little  waterfall  and  basin 
that  had  served  the  fugitive  Lance  for  a  bath.  The  spot 
bore  signs  of  later  and  more  frequent  occupancy,  and  when 
Flip  carefully  removed  some  bark  and  brushwood  from  a 
cavity  in  the  rock  and  drew  forth  various  folded  garments, 
it  was  evident  she  used  it  as  a  sylvan  dressing-room.  Here 
she  opened  the  parcel ;  it  contained  a  small  and  delicate 
shawl  of  yellow  China  crape.  Flip  instantly  threw  it  over 
her  shoulders  and  stepped  hurriedly  toward  the  edge  of  the 
wood.  Then  she  began  to  pass  backward  and  forward 


FLIP: 'A   CALIFORNIA    ROMANCE  321 

Y>efore  the  trunk  of  a  tree.  At  first  nothing  Was  visible 
on  the  tree,  but  a  closer  inspection  showed  a  large  pane  of 
ordinary  window  glass  stuck  in  the  fork  of  the  branches. 
It  was  placed  at  such  a  cunning  angle  against  the  darkness 
of  the  forest  opening  that  it  made  a  soft  and  mysterious 
mirror,  not  unlike  a  Claude  Lorraine  glass,  wherein  not 
only  the  passing  figure  of  the  young  girl  was  seen,  but  the 
dazzling  green  and  gold  of  the  hillside,  and  the  far-off  sil- 
houetted crests  of  the  Coast  Range. 

But  this  was  evidently  only  a  prelude  to  a  severer  re- 
hearsal. When  she  returned  to  the  waterfall  she  un- 
earthed from  her  stores  a  large  piece  of  yellow  soap  and 
some  yards  of  rough  cotton  "  sheeting."  These  she  de- 
posited beside  the  basin  and  again  crept  to  the  edge  of 
the  wood  to  assure  herself  that  she  was  alone.  Satisfied 
that  no  intruding  foot  had  invaded  that  virgin  bower,  she 
returned  to  her  bath  and  began  to  undress.  A  slight  wind 
followed  her,  and  seemed  to  whisper  to  the  circumjacent 
trees.  It  appeared  to  waken  her  sister  naiads  and  nymphs, 
who,  joining  their  leafy  fingers,  softly  drew  around  her  a 
gently  moving  band  of  trembling  lights  and  shadows,  of 
flecked  sprays  and  inextricably  mingled  branches,  and 
involved  her  in  a  chaste  sylvan  obscurity,  veiled  alike  from 
pursuing  god  or  stumbling  shepherd.  Within  these  hal- 
lowed precincts  was  the  musical  ripple  of  laughter  and  fall- 
ing water,  and  at  tihies  the  glimpse  of  a  lithe  brier-caught 
limb,  or  a  ray  of  sunlight  trembling  over  bright  flanks,  or 
the  white  austere  outline  of  a  childish  bosom. 

When  she  drew  again  the  leafy  curtain,  and  once  more 
stepped  out  of  the  wood,  she  was  completely  transformed. 
It  was  the  figure  that  had -appeared  to  the  Postmaster  ;  .the 
slight,  erect,  graceful  form  of  a  young  Woman  modishly 
attired.  It  was  Flip,  but  Flip  made  taller  by  the  length- 
ened skirt  and  clinging  habiliments  of  fashion.  Flip 
freckled,  but,  through  the  cunning  of  a  relief  of  yellow 


322  FLIP:   A  CALIFORNIA   ROMANCE 

color  in  her  gown,  her  piquant  brown-shot  face  and  eyes 
brightened  and  intensified  until  she  seemed  like  a  spicy 
odor  made  visible.  I  cannot  affirm  that  the  judgment  of 
Flip's  mysterious  modiste  was  infallible,  or  that  the  taste  of 
Mr.  Lance  Harriott,  her  patron,  was  fastidious ;  enough 
that  it  was  picturesque,  and  perhaps  not  more  glaring  and 
extravagant  than  the  color  in  which  Spring  herself  had  once 
clothed  the  sere  hillside  where  Flip  was  now  seated.  The 
phantom  mirror  in  the  tree  fork  caught  and  held  her  with 
the  sky,  the  green  leaves,  the  sunlight,  and  all  the  gracious- 
ness  of  her  surroundings,  and  the  wind  gently  tossed  her 
hair  and  the  gay  ribbons  of  her  gypsy  hat.  Suddenly  she 
started.  Some  remote  sound  in  the  trail  below,  inaudible 
to  any  ear  less  fine  than  hers,  arrested  her  breathing.  She 
rose  swiftly  and  darted  into  cover. 

Ten  minutes  passed.  The  sun  was  declining  ;  the  white 
fog  was  beginning  to  creep  over  the  Coast  Range.  From 
the  edge  of  the  wood  Cinderella  appeared,  disenchanted,  and 
in  her  homespun  garments.  The  clock  had  struck  —  the 
spell  was  past.  As  she  disappeared  down  the  trail  even 
the  magic  mirror,  moved  by  the  \vind,  slipped  from  the 
treetop  to  the  ground,  and  became  a  piece  of  common 


CHAPTER   IV 

THE  events  of  the  day  had  produced  a  remarkable  im- 
pression on  the  facial  aspect  of  the  charcoal-burning  Fairley. 
Extraordinary  processes  of  thought,  indicated  by  repeated 
rubbing  of  his  forehead,  had  produced  a  high  light  in  the 
middle  and  a  corresponding  deepening  of  shadow  at  the 
sides,  until  it  bore  the  appearance  of  a  perfect  sphere.  It 
was  this  forehead  that  confronted  Flip  reproachfully  as 
became  a  deceived  comrade,  menacingly  as  became  an  out- 
raged parent  in  the  presence  of  a  third  party  and  —  a  Post- 
master. 

"  Fine  doin's  this,  yer  receivin'  clandecent  bundles  and 
letters,  eh  ? "  he  began.  Flip  sent  one  swift,  withering 
look  of  contempt  at  the  Postmaster,  who  at  once  becoming 
invertebrate  and  groveling,  mumbled  that  he  must  "  get 
on  "  to  the  Crossing,  and  rose  to  go.  But  the  old  man, 
who  had  counted  on  his  presence  for  moral  support,  and 
was  clearly  beginning  to  hate  him  for  precipitating  this 
scene  with  his  daughter  whom  he  feared,  violently  protested. 

"  Sit  down,  can't  ye  ?  Don't  you  see  you  're  a  wit- 
ness ?  "  he  screamed  hysterically. 

It  was  a  fatal  suggestion.  "  Witness,"  repeated  Fli]s 
scornfully. 

"  Yes,  a  witness  !     He  gave  ye  letters  and  bundles." 

"  Were  n't  they  directed  to  me  ?  "  asked  Flip. 

"  Yes,"  said  the  Postmaster  hesitatingly  ;  "  in  course, 
yes." 

"  Do  you  lay  claim  to  them  ?  "  she  said,  turning  to  her 
father. 


324  FLIP:    A   CALIFORNIA   ROMANCE 

"  No,"  responded  the  old  man. 

"  Do  you  ?  "  sharply,  to  the  Postmaster. 

"No,"  he  replied. 

"  Then,"  said  Flip  coolly,  "  if  you  're  not  claimin'  'em 
for  yourself,  and  you  hear  father  say  they  ain't  his,  I  reckon 
the  less  you  have  to  say  about  'em  the  better." 

"  Thar  's  suthin'  in  that,"  said  the  old  man,  shamelessly 
abandoning  the  Postmaster. 

"  Then  why  don't  she  say  »who  sent  'em,  and  what  they 
are  like,"  said  the  Postmaster, '"  if  there  's  nothing  in  it  ?  " 

"  Yes,"  echoed  dad.      "Flip,  why  don't  you  ?  " 

Without  answering  the  direct  question,  Flip  turned  upon 
her  father. 

"Maybe  you  forget  how  you  used  to  row  and  tear  round 
here  because  tramps  and  such  like  came  to  the  ranch  for 
suthin',  and  I  gave  it  to  'em  ?  Maybe  you  '11  quit  tearin' 
round  and  letting  yourself  be  made  a  fool  of  now  by  that 
man,  just  because  one  of  those  tramps  gets  up  and  sends  us 
some  presents  back  in  turn  ?  " 

"  'T  was  n't  me,  Flip,"  said  the  old  man  deprecatingly, 
but  glaring  at  the  astonished  Postmaster.  "  'T  was  n't  my 
doin'.  I  allus  said  if  you  cast  your  bread  on  the  waters 
it  would  come  back  to  you  by  return  mail.  The  fact  is, 
the  Gov'ment  is  getting  too  high-handed !  Some  o'  these 
bloated  officials  had  better  climb  down  before  next  leck- 
shen." 

"  Maybe,"  continued  Flip  to  her  father,  without  looking 
at  her  discomfited  visitor,  "  ye  'd  better  find  out  whether 
one  of  those  officials  comes  up  to  this  yer  ranch  to  steal 
away  a  gal  about  my  own  size,  or  to  get  points  about 
diamond-making.  I  reckon  he  don't  travel  round  to  find 
out  who  writes  all  the  letters  that  go  through  the  Post- 
Office." 

The  Postmaster  had  seemingly  miscalculated  the  old 
man  's  infirm  temper,  and  the  daughter's  skillful  use  of  it. 


FLIP:    A   CALIFORNIA   ROMANCE  325 

He  was  unprepared  for  Flip's  boldness  and  audacity,  and 
when  he  saw  that  both  barrels  of  the  accusation  had  taken 
effect  on  the  charcoal-burner,  who  was  rising  with  epileptic 
rage,  he  fairly  turned  and  fled.  The  old  man  would  have 
followed  him  with  objurgation  beyond  the  door,  but  for  the 
restraining  hand  of  Flip. 

Baffled  and  beaten,  nevertheless  Fate  was  not  wholly 
unkind  to  the  retreating  suitor.  Near  the  Gin  and  Gin- 
ger Woods  he  picked  up  a  letter  which  had  fallen  from 
Flip's  packet.  He  recognized  the  writing,  and  did  not 
scruple  to  read  it.  It  was  not  a  love  epistle,  —  at  least, 
not  such  a  one  as  he  would  have  written,  —  it  did  not  give 
the  address  nor  the  name  of  the  correspondent ;  but  he 
read  the  following  with  greedy  eyes  :  — 

"  Perhaps  it 's  just  as  well  that  you  don't  rig  yourself  out 
for  the  benefit  of  those  dead-beats  at  the  Crossing,  or  any 
tramp  that  might  hang  round  the  ranch.  Keep  all  your 
style  for  me  when  I  come.  I  can't  tell  you  when,  it 's 
mighty  uncertain  before  the  rainy  season.  But  I  'm  coming 
soon.  Don't  go  back  on  your  promise  about  lettin'  up  on 
the  tramps,  and  being  a  little  more  high-toned.  And  don't 
you  give  'em  so  much.  It 's  true  I  sent  you  hats  twice. 
I  clean  forgot  all  about  the  first ;  but  /  would  n't  have 
given  a  ten-dollar  hat  to  a  nigger  woman  who  had  a  sick 
baby  because  I  had  an  extra  hat.  I  'd  have  let  that  baby 
slide.  I  forgot  to  ask  whether  the  skirt  is  worn  separately  ; 
I  must  see  that  dressmaker  sharp  about  it ;  but  I  think 
you  '11  want  something  on  besides  a  jacket  and  skirt ;  at 
least,  it  looks  like  it  up  here.  I  don't  think  you  could 
manage  a  piano  down  there  without  the  old  man  knowing 
it,  and  raisin'  the  devil  generally.  I  promised  you  I'd  let 
up  on  him.  Mind  you  keep  all  your  promises  to  me.  I  'm 
glad  you  're  gettin'  on  with  the  six-shooter  ;  tin  cans  are 
good  at  fifteen  yards,  but  try  it  on  suthin'  that  moves  !  I 


326  FLIP:    A   CALIFORNIA    ROMANCE 

forgot  to  say  that  I  am  on  the  track  of  your  big  brother. 
It 's  a  three  years'  old  track,  and  he  was  in  Arizona.  The 
friend  who  told  me  did  n't  expatiate  much  on  what  he  did 
there,  but  I  reckon  they  had  a  high  old  time.  If  he  's 
above  the  earth  I  '11  find  him,  you  bet.  The  yerba  buena 
and  the  southern  wood  came  all  right,  —  they  smeKt  like 
you.  Say,  Flip,  do  you  remember  the  last  —  the  very  last 
—  thing  that  happened  when  you  said  '  good-by  '  on  the 
trail  ?  Don't  let  me  ever  find  out  that  you  've  let  anybody 
else  kiss  "  — 

But  here  the  virtuous  indignation  of  the  Postmaster 
found  vent  in  an  oath.  He  threw  the  letter  away.  He 
retained  of  it  only  two  facts,  —  Flip  had  a  brother  who 
was  missing  ;  she  had  a  lover  present  in  the  flesh. 

How  much  of  the  substance  of  this  and  previous  let- 
ters Flip  had  confided  to  her  father  I  cannot  say.  If  she 
suppressed  anything  it  was  probably  that  which  affected 
Lance's  secret  alone,  and  it  was  doubtful  how  much  of 
that  she  herself  knew.  In  her  own  affairs  she  was  frank 
without  being  communicative,  and  never  lost  her  shy  ob- 
stinacy even  with  her  father.  Governing  the  old  man  as 
completely  as  she  did,  she  appeared  most  embarrassed 
when  she  was  most  dominant ;  she  had  her  own  way  with- 
out lifting  her  voice  or  her  eyes ;  she  seemed  oppressed 
by  mauvaise  honte  when  she  was  most  triumphant ;  she 
would  end  a  discussion  with  a  shy  murmur  addressed  to 
herself,  or  a  single  gesture  of  self-consciousness. 

The  disclosure  of  her  strange  relations  with  an  un- 
known man,  and  the  exchange  of  presents  and  confidences, 
seemed  to  suddenly  awake  Fairley  to  a  vague,  uneasy  sense 
of  some  unfulfilled  duties  as  a  parent.  The  first  effect  of 
this  on  his  weak  nature  was  a  peevish  antagonism  to  the 
cause  of  it.  He  had  long,  fretful  monologues  on  the  vanity 
of  diamond-making,  if  accompanied  with  "  pestering  "  by 


FLIP:   A   CALIFORNIA   ROMANCE  327 

"  interlopers ; "  on  the  wickedness  of  concealment  and 
conspiracy,  and  their  effects  on  charcoal-burning ;  on  the 
nurturing  of  spies  and  "  adders  "  in  the  family  circle,  and 
on  the  seditiousness  of  dark  and  mysterious  councils  in 
which  a  gray-haired  father  was  left  out.  It  was  true  that 
a  word  or  look  from  Flip  generally  brought  these  mono- 
logues to  an  inglorious  and  abrupt  termination,  but  they 
were  none  the  less  lugubrious  as  long  as  they  lasted.  In 
time  they  were  succeeded  by  an  affectation  of  contrite 
apology  and  self-depreciation.  "  Don't  go  out  o'  the  way 
to  ask  the  old  man,"  he  would  say,  referring  to  the  quantity 
of  bacon  to  be  ordered ;  "  it 's  nat'ral  a  young  gal  should 
have  her  own  advisers."  The  state  of  the  flour-barrel 
would  also  produce  a  like  self-abasement.  "  Unless  ye  're 
already  in  correspondence  about  more  flour,  ye  might  take 
the  opinion  o'  the  first  tramp  ye  meet  ez  to  whether  Santa 
Cruz  Mills  is  a  good  brand,  but  don't  ask  the  old  man." 
If  Flip  was  in  conversation  with  the  butcher,  Fairley  would 
obtrusively  retire  with  the  hope  "  he  was  n't  intrudin'  on 
their  secrets." 

These  phases  of  her  father's  weakness  were  not  fre- 
quent enough  to  excite  her  alarm,  but  she  could  not  help 
noticing  they  were  accompanied  with  a  seriousness  unusual 
to  him.  He  began  to  be  tremulously  watchful  of  her,  re- 
turning often  from  work  at  an  earlier  hour,  and  lingering  by 
the  cabin  in  the  morning.  He  brought  absurd  and  useless 
presents  for  her,  and  presented  them  with  a  nervous  anxiety, 
poorly  concealed  by  an  assumption  of  careless,  paternal 
generosity.  "  Suthin'  I  picked  up  at  the  Crossin'  for  ye 
to-day,"  he  would  say  airily,  and  retire  to  watch  the  effect 
of  a  pair  of  shoes  two  sizes  too  large,  or  a  fur  cap  in  Septem- 
ber. He  would  .have  hired  a  cheap  parlor  organ  for  her, 
but  for  the  apparently  unexpected  revelation  that  she 
couldn't  play.  He  had  received  the  news  of  a  clue  to  his 
long-lost  son  without  emotion,  but  lately  he  seemed  to  look 


328  FLIP  :    A   CALIFOKNIA   KOMANCE 

upon  it  "as  a  foregone  conclusion,  and  one  that  necessarily 
solved  the  question  of  companionship  for  Flip.  "  In  course, 
when  you  've  got  your  own  flesh  and  blood  with  ye,  ye  can't 
go  foolin'  around  with  strangers."  These  autumnal  blos- 
soms of  affection,  I  fear,  came  too  late  for  any  effect  upon 
Flip,  precociously  matured  by  her  father's  indifference  and 
selfishness.  But  she  was  good-humored,  and,  seeing  him 
seriously  concerned,  gave  him  more  of  her  time,  even  vis- 
ited him  in  the  sacred  seclusion  of  the  "  diamond  pit,"  and 
listened  with  far-off  eyes  to  his  fitful  indictment  of  all  things 
outside  his  grimy  laboratory.  Much  of  this  patient  indiffer- 
ence came  with  a  capricious  change  in  her  own  habits ;  she 
no  longer  indulged  in  the  rehearsal  of  dress,  she  packed 
away  her  most  treasured  garments,  and  her  leafy  boudoir 
Irnew  her  no  more.  She  sometimes  walked  on  the  hillside, 
and  often  followed  the  trail  she  had  taken  with  Lance  when 
she  led  him  to  the  ranch.  She  once  or  twice  extended  her 
walk  to  the  spot  where  she  had  parted  from  him,  and  as 
often  came  shyly  away,  her  eyes  downcast  and  her  face 
warm  with  color.  Perhaps  because  these  experiences  and 
some  mysterious  instinct  of  maturing  womanhood  had  left 
a  story  in  her  eyes,  which  her  two  adorers,  the  Postmaster 
.and  the  butcher,  read  with  passion,  she  became  famous  with- 
out knowing  it.  Extravagant  stories  of  her  fascinations 
brought  strangers  into  the  valley.  The  effect  upon  her 
father  may  be  imagined.  Lance  could  not  have  desired  a 
snore  effective  guardian  than  he  proved  to  be  in  this  emer- 
gency. Those  who  had  been  told  of  this  hidden  pearl  were 
surprised  to  find  it  so  jealously  protected. 


CHAPTER  V 

THE  long,  parched  summer  had  drawn  to  its  dusty  close* 
Much  of  it  was  already  blown  abroad  and  dissipated  on 
trail  and  turnpike,  or  crackled  in  harsh,  unelastic  fibres  on 
hillside  and  meadow.  Some  of  it  had  disappeared  in  the 
palpable  smoke  by  day  and  fiery  crests  by  night  of  burning 
forests.  The  besieging  fogs  on  the  Coast  Range  daily 
thinned  their  hosts,  and  at  last  vanished.  The  wind 
changed  from  northwest  to  southwest.  The  salt  breath  of 
the  sea  was  on  the  summit.  And  then  one  day  the  staring, 
unchanged  sky  was  faintly  touched  with  remote  mysterious 
clouds,  and  grew  tremulous  in  expression.  The  next  morn- 
ing dawned  upon  a  newer  face  in  the  heavens,  on  changed 
woods,  on  altered  outlines,  on  vanished  crests,  on  forgotten 
distances.  It  was  raining  ! 

Four  weeks  of  this  change,  with  broken  spaces  of  sun- 
light and  intense  blue  aerial  islands,  and  then  a  storm  set 
in.  All  day  the  summit  pines  and  redwoods  rocked  in  the 
blast.  At  times  the  onset  of  the  rain  seemed  to  be  held 
back  by  the  fury  of  the  gale,  or  was  visibly  seen  in  sharp 
waves  on  the  hillside.  Unknown  and  concealed  water- 
courses suddenly  overflowed  the  trails,  pools  became  lakes 
and  brooks  rivers.  Hidden  from  the  storm,  the  sylvan 
silence  of  sheltered  valleys  was  broken  by  the  impetuous 
rush  of  waters  ;  even  the  tiny  streamlet  that  traversed  Flip's 
retreat  in  the  Gin  and  Ginger  Woods  became  a  cascade. 

The  storm  drove  Fairley  from  his  couch  early.  The 
falling  of  a  large  tree  across  the  trail,  and  the  sudden  over- 
flow of  a  small  stream  beside  it,  hastened  his  steps.  But 


330  FLIP  :    A   CALIFORNIA   ROMANCE 

he  was  doomed  to  encounter  what  was  to  him  a  more  dis- 
agreeable object  —  a  human  figure.  By  the  bedraggled 
drapery  that  flapped  and  fluttered  in  the  wind,  by  the  long, 
unkempt  hair  that  hid  the  face  and  eyes,  and  by  the  gro- 
tesquely misplaced  bonnet,  the  old  man  recognized  one  of 
his  old  trespassers  —  an  Indian  squaw. 

"  Clear  out  'er  that !  Come,  make  tracks,  will  ye  ?  " 
the  old  man  screamed ;  but  here  the  wind  stopped  his 
voice,  and  drove  him  against  a  hazel-bush. 

"  Me  heap  sick,"  answered  the  squaw,  shivering  through 
her  muddy  shawl. 

"  I  '11  make  ye  a  heap  sicker  if  ye  don't  vamose  the 
ranch,"  continued  Fairley,  advancing. 

"  Me  wan  tee  Wangee  girl.  Wangee  girl  give  me  heap 
grub,"  said  the  squaw,  without  moving. 

"  You  bet  your  life,"  groaned  the  old  man  to  himself. 
Nevertheless  an  idea  struck  him.  "  Ye  ain't  brought  no 
presents,  hev  ye  ?  "  he  asked  cautiously.  "  Ye  ain't  got 
no  pooty  things  for  poor  Wangee  girl  ?  "  he  continued  in- 
sinuatingly. 

"  Me  got  heap  cache  nuts  and  berries,"  said  the  squaw. 

"  Oh,  in  course  !  in  course  !  That 's  just  it,"  screamed 
Fairley  ;  "  you  've.  got  'em  cached  only  two  miles  from  yer, 
and  you  '11  go  and  get  'em  for  a  half-dollar,  cash  down." 

"  Me  bring  Wangee  girl  to  cache,"  replied  the  Indian, 
pointing  to  the  wood.  "  Honest  Injin." 
.  Another  bright  idea  struck  Mr.  Fairley  but  it  required 
some  elaboration.  Hurrying  the  squaw  with  him  through 
the  pelting  rain,  he  reached  the  shelter  of  the  corral. 
Vainly  the  shivering  aborigine  drew  her  tightly  bandaged 
papoose  closer  to  her  square,  flat  breast,  and  looked  long- 
ingly toward  the  cabin  ;  the  old  man  backed  her  against 
the  palisade.  Here  he  cautiously  imparted  his  dark  inten- 
tions to  employ  her  to  keep  watch  and  ward  over  the  ranch, 
and  especially  over  its  young  mistress  — "  clear  out  all 


FLIP  :    A   CALIFORNIA   ROMANCE  331 

the  tramps  'ceptin'  yourself,  and  I  '11  keep  ye  in  grub 
and  rum."  Many  and  deliberate  repetitions  of  this  offer 
in  various  forms  at  last  seemed  to  affect  the  squaw ; 
she  nodded  violently,  and  echoed  the  last  word  "  rum." 
"  Now,"  she  added.  The  old  man  hesitated  ;  she  was  in 
possession  of  his  secret ;  he  groaned,  and,  promising  an 
immediate  installment  of  liquor,  led  her  to  the  cabin. 

The  door  was  so  securely  fastened  against  the  impact  of 
the  storm  that  some  moments  elapsed  before  the  bar  was 
drawn,  and  the  old  man  had  become  impatient  and  profane. 
When  it  was  partly  opened  by  Flip  he  hastily  slipped  in, 
dragging  the  squaw  after  him,  and  cast  one  single  suspi- 
cious glance  around  the  rude  apartment  which  served  as  a 
sitting-room.  Flip  had  apparently  been  writing.  A  small 
inkstand  was  still  on  the  board  table,  but  her  paper  had 
evidently  been  concealed  before  she  allowed  them  to  enter. 
The  squaw  instantly  squatted  before  the  adobe  hearth, 
warmed  her  bundled  baby,  and  left  the  ceremony  of  intro- 
duction to  her  companion.  Flip  regarded  the  two  with 
calm  preoccupation  and  indifference.  The  only  thing  that 
touched  her  interest  was  the  old  squaw's  draggled  skirt  and 
limp  neckerchief.  They  were  Flip's  own,  long  since  aban- 
doned and  cast  off  in  the  Gin  and  Ginger  Woods.  "  Secrets 
again,"  whined  Fairley,  still  eyeing  Flip  furtively.  "Se- 
crets again,  in  course  —  in  course — jiss  so.  Secrets  that 
must  be  kep'  from  the  ole  man.  Dark  doin's  by  one's 
own  flesh  and  blood.  Go  on  !  go  on  !  Don't  mind  me." 
Flip  did  not  reply.  She  had  even  lost  the  interest  in  her 
old  dress.  Perhaps  it  had  only  touched  some  note  in  uni- 
son with  her  reverie. 

"  Can't  ye  get  the  poor  critter  some  whiskey  ? "  he 
queried  fretfully.  "  Ye  used  to  be  peart  enuff  before." 
As  Flip  turned  to  the  corner  to  lift  the  demijohn,  Fairley 
took  occasion  to  kick  the  squaw  with  his  foot,  and  indicate 
by  extravagant  pantomime  that  the  bargain  was  not  to  be 


332  FLIP  :    A   CALIFORNIA   ROMANCE 

alluded  to  before  the  girl.  Flip  poured  out  some  whiskey 
in  a  tin  cup,  and,  approaching  the  squaw,  handed  it  to  her. 
"  It  's  like  ez  not,"  continued  Fairley  to  his  daughter,  but 
looking  at  the  squaw,  "  that  she  '11  be  huntin'  the  woods  off 
and  on,  and  kinder  looking  after  the  last  pit  near  the  madro- 
nos ;  ye  '11  give  her  grub  and  licker  ez  she  likes.  Well, 
d'  ye  hear,  Flip  ?  Are  ye  moonin'  agin  with  yer  secrets  ? 
What 's  gone  with  ye  ?  " 

If  the  child  were  dreaming,  it  was  a  delicious  dream. 
Her  magnetic  eyes  were  suffused  by  a  strange  light,  as 
though  the  eye  itself  had  blushed  ;  her  full  pulse  showed 
itself  more  in  the  rounding  outline  of  her  cheek  than  in 
any  deepening  of  color  ;  indeed,  if  there  was  any  height- 
ening of  tint,  it  was  in  her  freckles,  which  fairly  glistened 
like  tiny  spangles.  Her  eyes  were  downcast,  her  shoul- 
der slightly  bent,  but  her  voice  was  low  and  clear  and 
thoughtful  as  ever. 

"  One  o'  the  big  pines  above  the  Madrono  pit  has  blown 
over  into  the  run,"  she  said.  "  It 's  choked  up  the  water, 
and  it 's  risin'  fast.  Like  ez  not  it 's  pourin'  over  into  the 
pit  by  this  time." 

The  old  man  rose  with  a  fretful  cry.  "  And  why  in 
blazes  did  n't  you  say  so  first  ?  "  he  screamed,  catching  up 
his  axe  and  rushing  to  the  door. 

"  Ye  did  n't  give  me  a  chance,"  said  Flip,  raising  her 
eyes  for  the  first  time.  With  an  impatient  imprecation, 
Fairley  darted  by  her  and  rushed  into  the  wood.  In  an 
instant  she  had  shut  the  door  and  bolted  it.  In  the  same 
instant  the  squaw  arose,  dashed  the  long  hair  not  only 
from  her  eyes  but  from  her  head,  tore  away  her  shawl  and 
blanket,  and  revealed  the  square  shoulders  of  Lance  Har- 
riott !  Flip  remained  leaning  against  the  door ;  but  the 
young  man  in  rising  dropped  the  bandaged  papoose,  which 
rolled  from  his  lap  into  the  fire.  Flip,  with  a  cry,  sprang 
*Qward  it ;  but  Lance  caught  her  by  the  waist  with  one 


FLIP  :    A   CALIFORNIA   ROMANCE  333 

arm,  as  with  the  other  he  dragged  the  bundle  from  the 
flames. 

"  Don't  be  alarmed,"  he  said  gayly,  "  it 's  only  "  — 

"  What  ?  "  said  Flip,  trying  to  disengage  herself. 

l(  My  coat  and  trousers." 

Flip  laughed,  which  encouraged  Lance  to  another  attempt 
to  kiss  her.  She  evaded  it  by  diving  her  head  into  his 
waistcoat,  and  saying,  "  There  's  father." 

"  But  he  's  gone  to  clear  away  that  tree,"  suggested 
Lance. 

One  of  Flip's  significant  silences  followed. 

"  Oh,  I  see,"  he  laughed.  "  That  was  a  plan  to  get  him 
away  !  Ah  !  "  She  had  released  herself. 

"  Why  did  you  come  like  that  ?  "  she  said,  pointing  to 
his  wig  and  blanket. 

"  To  see  if  you  'd  know  me,"  he  responded. 

"No,"  said  Flip,  dropping  her  eyes.  "It's  to  keep 
other  people  from  knowing  you.  You  're  hidin'  agin." 

"  I  am,"  returned  Lance  ;  "  but,"  he  interrupted,  "  it 's 
only  the  same  old  thing." 

"  But  you  wrote  from  Monterey  that  it  was  all  over," 
she  persisted. 

"  So  it  would  have  been,"  he  said  gloomily,  "  but  for 
some  dog  down  here  who  is  hunting  up  an  old  scent.  I'll 
spot  him  yet,  and  "  —  He  stopped  suddenly,  with  such 
utter  abstraction  of  hatred  in  his  fixed  and  glittering  eyes 
that  she  almost  feared  him.  She  laid  her  hand  quite  un- 
consciously on  -his  arm.  He  grasped  it ;  his  face  changed. 

"  I  could  n't  wait  any  longer  to  see  you,  Flip,  so  I  came 
here  anyway,"  he  went  on.  "  I  thought  to  hang  round  and 
get  a  chance  to  speak  to  you  first,  when  I  fell  afoul  of  the 
old  man.  He  didn't  know  me,  and  tumbled  right. in  my 
little  game.  Why,  do  you  believe  he  wants  to  hire  me  for 
my  grub  and  liquor,  to  act  as  a  sort  of  sentry  over  you  and 
the  ranch  ?  "  And  here  he  related  with  great  gusto  the 


334  FLIP  :    A   CALIFORNIA   ROMANCE 

substance  of  his  interview.  "  I  reckon  as  he  's  that  sus- 
picious," he  concluded,  "  I  'd  better  play  it  out  now  as  I.'ve 
begun,  only  it 's  mighty  hard  I  can't  see  you  here  before  the 
fire  in  your  fancy  toggery,  Flip,  but  must  dodge  in  and  out 
of  the  wet  underbrush  in  these  yer  duds  of  yours  that  I 
picked  up  in  the  old  place  in  the  Gin  and  Ginger  Woods." 

"  Then  you  came  here  just  to  see  me  ?  "  asked  Flip. 

« I  did." 

"  For  only  that  ?  " 

"  Only  that." 

Flip  dropped  her  eyes.  Lance  had  got  his  other  arm 
around  her  waist,  but  her  resisting  little  hand  was  still 
potent. 

"  Listen,"  she  said  at  last  without  looking  up,  but  ap- 
parentl}'  talking  to  the  intruding  arm,  "  when  dad  comes 
I  '11  get  him  to  send  you  to  watch  the  diamond  pit.  It 
is  n't  far ;  it 's  warm,  and  "  — 

"  What  ?  " 

"  I  '11  come,  after  a  bit,  and  see  you.  Quit  foolin'  now. 
[i  you'd  only  have  come  here  like  yourself — like  —  like 
—  a  white  man." 

"  The  old  man,"  interrupted  Lance,  "  would  have  just 
passed  me  on  to  the  summit.  I  could  n't  have  played  the 
lost  fisherman  on  him  at  this  time  of  year." 

"  Ye  could  have  been  stopped  at  the  Crossing  by  high 
water,  you  silly,"  said  the  girl.  "  It  was."  This  gram- 
matical obscurity  referred  to  the  stage-coach. 

"Yes,  but  I  might  have  been  tracked. to  this  cabin. 
And  look  here,  Flip,"  he  said,  suddenly  straightening  him- 
self, and  lifting  the  girl's  face  to  a  level  with  his  own  ;  "  I 
don't  want  you  to  lie  any  more  for  me.  It  ain't  right." 

"  All  right.  Ye  need  n't  go  to  the  pit,  then,  and  I  won't 
come." 

"  Flip  ! " 

"  And  here  's  dad  coming.     Quick  !  " 


FLIP:    A   CALIFORNIA   ROMANCE  335 

Lance  chose  to  put  his  own  interpretation  on  this  last 
adjuration.  The  resisting  little  hand  was  now  lying  quite 
limp  on  his  shoulder.  He  drew  her  brown,  bright  face  near 
his  own,  felt  her  spiced  breath  on  his  lips,  his  cheeks,  his 
hot  eyelids,  his  swimming  eyes,  kissed  her,  hurriedly  re- 
placed his  wig  and  blanket,  and  dropped  beside  the  fire 
with  the  tremulous  laugh  of  youth  and  innocent  first  pas- 
sion. Flip  had  withdrawn  to  the  window,  and  was  looking 
out  upon  the  rocking  pines. 

"  He  don't  seem  to  be  coming,"  said  Lance,  with  a  half- 
shy  laugh. 

"  No,"  responded  Flip  demurely,  pressing  her  hot  oval 
cheek  against  the  wet  panes  ;'  "  I  reckon  I  was  mistaken. 
You  're  sure,"  she  added,  looking  resolutely  another  way, 
but  still  trembling  like  a  magnetic  needle  toward  Lance,  as 
he  moved  slightly  before  the  fire,  "  you  're  sure  you  'd  like 
me  to  come  to  you  ?  " 

"  Sure,  Flip  ?  " 

"  Hush  !  "  said  Flip,  as  this  reassuring  query  of  reproach- 
ful astonishment  appeared  about  to  be  emphasized  by  a  for- 
ward amatory  dash  of  Lance's  ;  "  hush  !  he  's  coming  this 
time,  sure." 

It  was,  indeed,  Fairley,  exceedingly  wet,  exceedingly  be- 
draggled, exceedingly  sponged  out  as  to  color,  and  exceed- 
ingly profane.  It  appeared  that  there  was,  indeed,  a  tree 
that  had  fallen  in  the  "  run,"  but  that,  far  from  diverting 
the  overflow  into  the  pit,  it  had  established  "  back  water," 
which  had  forced  another  outlet.  All  this  might  have  been 
detected  at  once  by  any  human  intellect  not  distracted  by 
correspondence  with  strangers,  and  enfeebled  by  habitually 
scorning  the  intellect  of  its  own  progenitor.  This  reckless 
selfishness  had  further  only  resulted  in  giving  "  rheu- 
matics "  to  that  progenitor,  who  now  required  the  external 
administration  of  opodeldoc  to  his  limbs,  and  the  inter- 
nal administration  of  whiskey.  Having  thus  spoken,  Mr. 


336  FLIP  :    A  •  CALIFORNIA    ROMANCE 

Fairley,  with  great  promptitude  .and  infantine  simplicity,  at 
once  bared  two  legs  of  entirely  different  colors  and  mutely 
waited  for  his  daughter  to  rub  them.  If  Flip  did  this  all 
unconsciously,  and  with  the  mechanical  dexterity  of  pre- 
vious habit,  it  was  because  she  did  not  quite  understand  the 
savage  eyes  and  impatient  gestures  of  Lance  in  his  encom- 
passing wig  and  blanket,  and  because  it  helped  her  to  voice 
her  thought. 

"  Ye  '11  never  be  able  to  take  yer  watch  at  the  diamond 
pit  to-night,  dad,"  she  said;  "and  I've  been  reck'nin'  you 
might  set  the  squaw  there  instead.  I  can  show  her  what 
to  do." 

But  to  Flip's  momentary  discomfiture,  her  father  promptly 
objected.  "  Mebbe  I  've  got  suthin'  else  for  her  to  do. 
Mebbe  I  may  have  my  secrets,  too  —  eh  ?  "  he  said,  with 
dark  significance,  at  the  same  time  administering  a  signi- 
ficant nudge  to  Lance,  which  kept  up  the  young  man's 
exasperation.  "  No,  she  '11  rest  yer  a  bit  just  now.  I  '11 
set  her  to  watchin'  suthin'  else,  like  as  not,  when  I  want 
her."  Flip  fell  into  one  of  her  suggestive  silences.  Lance 
watched  her  earnestly,  mollified  by  a  single  furtive  glance 
from  her  significant  eyes ;  the  rain  dashed  against  the 
windows,  and  occasionally  spattered  and  hissed  in  the 
hearth  of  the  broad  chimney,  and  Mr.  David  Fairley, 
somewhat  assuaged  by  the  internal  administration  of  whis- 
key, grew  more  loquacious.  "The  genius  of  incongruity 
and  inconsistency  which  generally  ruled  his  conduct  came 
out  with  freshened  vigor  under  the  gentle  stimulation  of 
spirit.  "  On  an  evening  like  this,"  he  began,  comfortably 
settling  himself  on  the  floor  beside  the  chimney,  "  ye  might 
rig  yerself  out  in  them  new  duds  and  fancy  fixin's  that  that 
Sacramento  shrimp  sent  ye,  and  let  your  own  flesh  and 
blood  see  ye.  If  that 's  too  much  to  do  for  your  old  dad, 
ye  might  do  it  to  please  that  Digger  squaw  as  a  Christian 
act."  Whether  in  the  hidden  depths  of  the  old  man's 


FLIP:    A   CALIFOKNIA   ROMANCE  337 

consciousness  there  was  a  feeling  of  paternal  vanity  in 
showing  this  wretched  aborigine  the  value  and  importance 
of  the  treasure  she  was  about  to  guard,  I  cannot  say.  Flip 
darted  an  interrogatory  look  at  Lance,  who  nodded  a  quiet 
assent,  and  she  flew  into  the  inner  room.  She  did  not 
linger  on  the  details  of  her  toilet,  but  reappeared  almost 
the  next  moment  in  her  new  finery,  buttoning  the  neck  of 
her  gown  as  she  entered  the  room,  and  chastely  stopping  at 
the  window  to  characteristically  pull  up  her  stocking.  The 
peculiarity  of  her  situation  increased  her  usual  shyness  ; 
she  played  with  the  black  and  gold  beads  of  a  handsome 
necklace  —  Lance's  last  gift  —  as  the  merest  child  might  ; 
her  unbuckled  shoe  gave  the  squaw  a  natural  opportunity 
of  showing  her  admiration  and  devotion  by  insisting  upon 
buckling  it,  and  gave  Lance,  under  that  disguise,  an  oppor- 
tunity of  covertly  kissing  the  little  foot  and  ankle  in  the 
shadow  of  the  chimney ;  an  event  which  provoked  slight 
hysterical  symptoms  in  Flip  and  caused  her  to  sit  suddenly 
down  in  spite  of  the  remonstrances  of  her  parent.  "  Ef 
you  can't  quit  gigglin'  and  squirmin'  like  an  Injin  baby 
yourself,  ye  'd  better  get  rid  o'  them  duds,"  he  ejaculated 
with  peevish  scorn. 

Yet,  under  this  perfunctory  rebuke,  his  weak  vanity 
could  not  be  hidden,  and  he  enjoyed  the  evident  admira- 
tion of  a  creature,  whom  he  believed  to  be  half-witted  and 
degraded,  all  the  more  keenly  because  it  did  not  make 
him  jealous.  She  could  not  take  Flip  from  him.  Ren- 
dered garrulous  by  liquor,  he  went  to  voice  his  contempt 
for  those  who  might  attempt  it.  Taking  advantage  of 
his  daughter's  absence  to  resume  her  homely  garments, 
he  whispered  confidentially  to  Lance :  — 

"  Ye  see,  these  yer  fine  dresses  ye  might  think  is  presents. 
P'r'aps  Flip  lets  on  they  are.  PYaps  she  don't  know  any 
better.  But  they  ain't  presents.  They  're  only  samples 
o'  dressmaking  and  jewelry  that  a  vain,  conceited  shrimp 


338  FLIP  :    A   CALIFORNIA   ROMANCE 

of  a  feller  up  in  Sacramento  sends  down  here  to  get  cus- 
tomers for.  In  course  I  'm  to  pay  for  'em.  In  course  he 
reckons  I  'm  to  do  it.  In  course  I  calkilate  to  do  it;  but 
he  need  n't  try  to  play  'em  off  as  presents.  He  talks 
suthin'  o'  coming  down  here,  sportin'  hisself  off  on  Flip  as 
a  fancy  buck  !  Not  ez  long  ez  the  old  man  's  here,  you 
bet !  "  Thoroughly  carried  away  by  his  fancied  wrongs, 
it  was  perhaps  fortunate  that  he  did  not  observe  the 
flashing  eyes  of  Lance  behind  his  lank  and  lustreless 
wig  ;  but  seeing  only  the  figure  of  Lance  as  he  had  con- 
jured him,  he  went  on  :  "  That 's  why  I  want  you  to  hang 
around  her.  Hang  around  her  ontil  my  boy  —  him  that 's 
comin'  home  on  a  visit  —  gets  here,  and  I  reckon  he  '11 
clear  out  that  yar  Sacramento  counter-jumper.  Only  let 
me  get  a  sight  o'  him  afore  Flip  does.  Eh  ?  D'  ye  hear  ? 
Dog  my  skin  if  I  don't  believe  the  d — d  Injun  's  drunk." 
It  was  fortunate  that  at  that  moment  Flip  reappeared, 
and,  dropping  on  the  hearth  between  her  father  and  the 
infuriated  Lance,  let  her  hand  slip  in  his  with  a  warning 
pressure.  The  light  touch  momentarily  recalled  him  to 
himself  and  her,  but  not  until  the  quick-witted  girl  had 
had  revealed  to  her,  in  one  startled  wave  of  consciousness, 
the  full  extent  of  Lance's  infirmity  of  temper.  With 
the  instinct  of  awakened  tenderness  came  a  sense  of  re- 
sponsibility, and  a  vague  premonition  of  danger.  The 
coy  blossom  of  her  heart  was  scarce  unfolded  before  it 
was  chilled  by  approaching  shadows.  Fearful  of  she 
knew  not  what,  she  hesitated.  Every  moment  of  Lance's 
stay  was  imperiled  by  a  single  word  that  might  spring 
from  his  suppressed  white  lips ;  beyond  and  above  the 
suspicions  his  sudden  withdrawal  might  awaken  in  her 
father's  breast,  she  was  dimly  conscious  of  some  mysteri- 
ous terror  without  that  awaited  him.  She  listened  to  the 
furious  onslaught  of  the  wind  upon  the  sycamores  beside 
their  cabin,  and  thought  she  heard  it  there  ;  she  listened 


FLIP  :    A   CALIFORNIA   KOMANCE  339 

to  the  sharp  fusillade  of  rain  upon  roof  and  pane,  and  the 
turbulent  roar  and  rush  of  leaping  mountain  torrents  at 
their  very  feet,  and  fancied  it  was  there.  She  suddenly 
sprang  to  the  window,  and,  pressing  her  eyes  to  the  pane, 
saw  through  the  misty  turmoil  of  tossing  boughs  and  sway- 
ing branches  the  scintillating  intermittent  flames  of  torches 
moving  on  the  trail  above,  and  knew  it  was  there ! 

In  an  instant  she  was  collected  and  calm.  "  Dad,"  she 
said,  in  her  ordinary  indifferent  tone,  "  there  's  torches 
movin'  up  toward  the  diamond  pit.  Likely  it's  tramps. 
I  '11  take  the  squaw  and  see."  And  before  the  old  man 
could  stagger  to  his  feet  she  had  dragged  Lance  with  her 
into  the  road. 


CHAPTER  VI 

THE  wind  charged  down  upon  them,  slamming  the 
door  at  their  backs,  extinguishing  the  broad  shaft  of  light 
that  had  momentarily  shot  out  into  the  darkness,  and 
swept  them  a  dozen  yards  away.  Gaining  the  lee  of  a 
madrono  tree,  Lance  opened  his  blanketed  arms,  enfolded 
the  girl,  and  felt  her  for  one  brief  moment  tremble  and 
nestle  in  his  bosom  like  some  frightened  animal.  "  Well," 
he  said  gayly,  "what  next?"  Flip  recovered  herself. 
"  You  're  safe  now  anywhere  outside  the  housje.  But  did 
you  expect  them  to-night  ?  "  Lance  shrugged  his  shoul- 
ders. "  Why  not  ?  "  "  Hush  ! "  returned  the  girl ;  "  they  're 
coming  this  way." 

The  four  flickering,  scattered  lights  presently  dropped 
into  line.  The  trail  had  been  found ;  they  were  coming 
nearer.  Flip  breathed  quickly ;  the  spiced  aroma  of  her 
presence  filled  the  blanket  as  he  drew  her  tightly  beside 
him.  He  had  forgotten  the  storm  that  raged  around  them, 
the  mysterious  foe  that  was  approaching,  until  Flip  caught 
his  sleeve  with  a  slight  laugh.  "  Why,  it 's  Kennedy  and 
Bijah !  " 

"  Who  's  Kennedy  and  Bijah  ?  "  asked  Lance  curtly. 

"  Kennedy  's  the  Postmaster  and  Bijah  's  the  Butcher." 

"  What  do  they  want  ?  "  continued  Lance. 

"  Me,"  said  Flip  coyly. 

"  You  ?  " 

"  Yes  ;  let 's  run  away." 

Half  leading,  half  dragging  her  friend,  Flip  made  her 
way  with  unerring  woodcraft  down  the  ravine.  The 


FLIP  :    A   CALIFORNIA   ROMANCE  341 

sound  of  voices  and  even  the  tumult  of  the  storm  became 
fainter,  an  acrid  smell  of  burning  green  wood  smarted 
Lance's  lips  and  eyes ;  in  the  midst  of  the  darkness 
beneath  him  gradually  a  faint,  gigantic  nimbus  like  a 
lurid  eye  glowed  and  sank,  quivered  and  faded  with  the 
spent  breath  of  the  gale  as  it  penetrated  their  retreat. 
"  The  pit,"  whispered  Flip  ;  "  it  's  safe  on  the  other  side," 
she  added,  cautiously  skirting  the  orbit  of  the  great  eye, 
and  leading  him  to  a  sheltered  nest  of  bark  and  sawdust. 
It  was  warm  and  odorous.  Nevertheless,  they  both  deemed 
it  necessary  to  enwrap  themselves  in  the  single  blanket. 
The  eye  beamed  fitfully  upon  them,  occasionally  a  wave  of 
lambent  tremulousness  passed  across  it ;  its  weirdness  was  an 
excuse  for  their  drawing  nearer  each  other  in  playful  terror. 

«  Flip." 

"  Well  ?  " 

"  What  did  the  other  two  want  ?     To  see  you,  too  ?  " 

"  Likely,"  said  Flip,  without  the  least  trace  of  coquetry. 
"There's  been  a  lot  of  strangers  yer,  off  and  on." 

"  Perhaps  you  'd  like  to  go  back  and  see  them  ?  " 

"  Do  you  want  me  to  ?  " 

Lance's  reply  was  a  kiss.  Nevertheless  he  was  vaguely 
uneasy.  "  Looks  a  little  as  if  I  were  running  away,  don't 
it  ?  "  he  suggested. 

"  No,"  said  Flip  ;  "  they  think  you  're  only  a  squaw  ;  it 's 
me  they  're  after."  Lance  smarted  a  little  at  this  infeli- 
citous speech.  A  strange  and  irritating  sensation  had  been 
creeping  over  him  —  it  was  his  first  experience  of  shame 
and  remorse.  "  I  reckon  I  '11  go  back  and  see,"  he  said, 
rising  abruptly. 

Flip  was  silent.  She  was  thinking.  Believing  that  the 
men  were  seeking  her  only,  she  knew  that  their  intention 
would  be  directed  from  her  companion  when  it  was  found 
out  he  was  no  longer  with  her,  and  she  dreaded  to  meet 
them  in  his  irritable  presence. 


342  FLIP.:    A   CALIFOKNIA   ROMANCE 

"  Go,"  she  said ;  "  tell  dad  something 's  wrong  in  the 
diamond  pit,  and  say  I  'm  watching  it  for  him  here." 

"  And  you  ?  " 

"  I  '11  go  there  and  wait  for  him.  If  he  can't  get  rid  of 
them,  and  they  follow  him  there,  I  '11  come  back  here  and 
meet  you.  Anyhow,  I  '11  manage  to  have  dad  wait  there 
a  spell." 

She  took  his  hand  and  led  him  back  by  a  different  path 
to  the  trail.  He  was  surprised  to  find  that  the  cabin,  its 
window  glowing  from  the  fire,  was  only  a  hundred  yards 
away.  "  Go  in  the  back  way,  by  the  shed.  Don't  go  in  the 
room,  nor  near  the  light,  if  you  can.  Don't  talk  inside, 
but  call  or  beckon  to  dad.  Remember,"  she  said,  with  a 
laugh,  "  you  're  keeping  watch  of  me  for  him.  Pull  your 
hair  down  on  your  eyes,  so."  This  operation,  like  most 
feminine  embellishments  of  the  masculine  toilet,  was  at- 
tended by  a  kiss,  and  Flip,  stepping  back  into  the  shadow, 
vanished  in  the  storm. 

Lance's  first  movements  were  inconsistent  with  his  as- 
sumed sex.  He  picked  up  his  draggled  skirt  and  drew  a 
bowie-knife  from  his  boot.  From  his  bosom  he  took  a 
revolver,  turning  the  chambers  noiselessly  as  he  felt  the  caps. 
He  then  crept  toward  the  cabin  softly,  and  gained  the  shed. 
It  was  quite  dark  but  for  a  pencil  of  light  piercing  a  crack 
of  the  rude,  ill-fitting  door  that  opened  on  the  sitting-room. 
A  single  voice  not  unfamiliar  to  him,  raised  in  half-brutal 
triumph,  greeted  his  ears.  A  name  was  mentioned  —  his 
own  !  His  angry  hand  was  on  the  latch.  One  moment 
more  and  he  would  have  burst  the  door,  but  in  that  instant 
another  name  was  uttered  —  a  name  that  dropped  his  hand 
from  the  latch  and  the  blood  from  his  cheeks.  He  staggered 
backward,  passed  his  hand  swiftly  across  his  forehead,  re- 
covered himself  with  a  gesture  of  mingled  rage  and  despair, 
and,  sinking  on  his  knees  beside  the  door,  pressed  his  hot 
temples  against  the  crack. 


FLIP  :    A   CALIFORNIA   ROMANCE  343 

"  Do  I  know  Lance  Harriott  ?  "  said  the  voice.  "  Do 
I  know  the  d — d  ruffian  ?  Did  n't  I  hunt  him  a  year  ago 
into  the  brush  three  miles  from  the  Crossing  ?  Did  n't  we 
Jose  sight  of  him  the  very  day  he  turned  up  yer  at  this . 
ranch,  and  got  smuggled  over  into  Monterey  ?  Ain't  it  the 
same  man  as  killed  Arkansaw  Bob  —  Bob  Bidley  —  the 
name  he  went  by  in  Sonora  ?  And  who  was  Bob  Ridley, 
eh  ?  Who  ?  Why,  you  d — d  old  fool,  it  was  Bob  Fair- 
ley  —  YOUR  SON  !  " 

The  old  man's  voice  rose  querulous  and  indistinct. 

"  What  are  ye  talkin'  about  ? "  interrupted  the  first 
speaker.  "  I  tell  you  I  know.  Look  at  these  pictures.  I 
found  'em  on  his  body.  Look  at  'em.  Pictures  of  you 
and  your  girl.  PVaps  you  '11  deny  them.  PYaps  you  '11  tell 
me  I  lie  when  I  tell  you  he  told  me  he  was  your  son  ;  told 
me  how  he  ran  away  from  you ;  how  you  were  livin'  some- 
where in  the  mountains  makin'  gold,  or  suthin'  else,  outer 
charcoal.  He  told  me  who  he  was  as  a  secret.  He  never 
let  on  he  told  it  to  any  one  else.  And  when  I  found  that 
the  man  who  killed  him,  Lance  Harriott,  had  been  hidin' 
here,  had  been  sendin'  spies  all  around  to  find  out  all  about 
your  son,  had  been  foolin'  you,  and  tryin'  to  ruin  your  gal 
as  he  had  killed  your  boy,  I  knew  that  he  knew  it  too." 

"  LIAR  ! " 

The  door  fell  in  with  a  crash.  There  was  the  sudden 
apparition  of  the  demoniac  face,  still  half  hidden  by  the 
'ong  trailing  black  locks  of  hair  that  curled  like  Medusa's 
around  it.  A  cry  of  terror  filled  the  room.  Three  of  the 
men  dashed  from  the  door  and  fled  precipitately.  The  man 
who  had  spoken  sprang  toward  his  rifle  in  the  chimney  cor- 
ner. But  the  movement  was  his  last ;  a  blinding  flash  and 
shattering  report  interposed  between  him  and  his  weapon. 
The  impulse  carried  him  forward  headlong  into  the  fire,  that 
hissed  and  spluttered  with  his  blood,  and  Lance  Harriott, 
with  his  smoking  pistol,  strode  past  hint  to  the  door.  Al- 


344  FLIP  :    A   CALIFORNIA   ROMANCE 

ready  far  down  the  trail  there  were  hurried  voices,  the  crack 
and  crackling  of  impending  branches  growing  fainter  and 
fainter  in  the  distance.  Lance  turned  back  to  the  solitary 
living  figure  —  the  old  man. 

Yet  he  might  have  been  dead  too,  he  sat  so  rigid  and  mo- 
tionless, his  fixed  eyes  staring  vacantly  at  the  body  on  the 
hearth.  Before  him  on  the  table  lay  the  cheap  photographs, 
one  evidently  of  himself,  taken  in  some  remote  epoch  of  com- 
plexion, one  of  a  child  which  Lance  recognized  as  Flip. 

"Tell  me,"  said  Lance  hoarsely,  laying  his  quivering 
hand  on  the  table,  "  was  Bob  Ridley  your  son  ?  " 

"  My  son,"  echoed  the  old  man  in  a  strange,  far-off  voice, 
without  turning  his  eyes  from  the  corpse, — "  my  son  — is 
—  is  —  is  there!"  pointing  to  the  dead  man.  "Hush! 
Did  n't  he  tell  you  so  ?  Did  n't  you  hear  him  say  it  ? 
Dead  —  dead  —  shot  —  shot !  " 

"  Silence !  are  you  crazy,  man  ?  "  interposed  Lance 
tremblingly  ;  "  that  is  not  Bob  Ridley,  but  a  dog,  a  coward, 
a  liar,  gone  to  his  reckoning.  Hear  me  !  If  your  son  was 
Bob  Ridley,  I  swear  to  God  I  never  knew  it,  now  or  — 
or  —  then.  Do  you  hear  me  ?  Tell  me  !  Do  you  believe 
me  ?  Speak  !  You  shall  speak  !  " 

He  laid  his  hand  almost  menacingly  on  the  old  man's 
shoulder.  Fairley  slowly  raised  his  head.  Lance  fell  back 
with  a  groan  of  horror.  The  weak  lips  were  wreathed  with 
a  feeble  imploring  smile,  but  the  eyes  wherein  the  fretful, 
peevish,  suspicious  spirit  had  dwelt  were  blank  and  tenant- 
less  ;  the  flickering  intellect  that  had  lit  them  was  blown 
out  and  vanished. 

Lance  walked  toward  the  door  and  remained  motionless 
for  a  moment,  gazing  into  the  night.  When  he  turned 
back  again  toward  the  fire  his  face  was  as  colorless  as  the 
dead  man's  on  the  hearth ;  the  fire  of  passion  was  gone  from 
his  beaten  eyes ;  his  step  was  hesitating  and  slow.  He 
went  up  to  the  tabffi. 


FLIP  :    A   CALIFORNIA   ROMANCE  345 

"I  say,  old  man,"  he  said,  with  a  strange  smile  and  an 
odd,  premature  suggestion  of  the  infinite  weariness  of  death 
in  his  voice,  "  you  would  n't  mind  giving  me  this,  would 
you  ?  "  and  he  took  up  the  picture  of  Flip.  The  old  man 
nodded  repeatedly.  "Thank  you,"  said  Lance.  He' went 
to  the  door,  paused  a  moment,  and  returned.  "  Good-by, 
old  man,"  he  said,  holding  out  his  hand.  Fairley  took  it 
with  a  childish  smile.  "  He 's  dead,"  said  the  old  man 
softly,  holding  Lance's  hand,  but  pointing  to  the  hearth. 

"  Yes,"  said  Lance,  with  the  faintest  of  smiles  on  the 
palest  of  faces.  "  You  feel  sorry  for  any  one  that 's  dead, 
don't  you  ? "  Fairley  nodded  again.  Lance  looked  at 
him  with  eyes  as  remote  as  Irs  own,  shook  his  head,  and 
turned  away.  When  he  reacned  the  door  he  laid  his  re- 
volver carefully,  and,  indeed,  somewhat  ostentatiously,  upon 
a  chair.  But  when  he  stepped  from  the  threshold  he 
stopped  a  moment  in  the  light  of  the  open  door  to  examine 
the  lock  of  a  small  derringer  which  he  drew  from  his  pocket. 
He  then  shut  the  door  carefully,  and  with  the  same  slow, 
hesitating  step,  felt  his  way  into  the  night. 

He  had  but  one  idea  in  his  mind,  to  find  some  lonely 
spot ;  some  spot  where  the  footsteps  of  man  would  never 
penetrate,  some  spot  that  would  yield  him  rest,  sleep,  ob- 
literation, forgetfulness,  and,  above  all,  where  he  would  be 
forgotten.  He  had  seen  such  places  ;  surely  there  were 
many,  —  where  bones*  were  picked  up  of  dead  men  who 
had  faded  from  the  earth  and  had  left  no  other  record.  If 
he  could  only  keep  his  senses  now  he  might  find  such  a  spot, 
but  he  must  be  careful,  for  her  little  feet  went  everywhere, 
and  she  must  never  see  him  again  alive  or  dead.  And  in 
the  midst  of  his  thoughts,  and  the  darkness,  and  the  storm, 
he  heard  a  voice  at  his  side,  "  Lance,  how  long  you  have 
been  !  " 

Left    to  himself,  the  old  man  again  fell  into  a  vacant 


346  FLIP:   A   CALIFORNIA   ROMANCE 

contemplation  of  the  dead  body  before  him,  until  a  stronger 
blast  swept  down  like  an  avalanche  upon  the  cabin,  burst 
through  the  ill-fastened  door  and  broken  chimney,  and, 
dashing  the  ashes  and  living  embers  over  the  floor,  tilled 
the  room  with  blinding  smoke  and  flame.  Fairley  rose 
with  a  feeble  cry,  and  then,  as  if  acted  upon  by  some  dom- 
inant memory,  groped  under  the  bed  until  he  found  his 
buckskin  bag  and  his  precious  crystal,  and  fled  precipitately 
from  the  room.  Lifted  by  this  second  shock  from  his  apa- 
thy, he  returned  to  the  fixed  idea  of  his  life,  —  the  discov- 
ery and  creation  of  the  diamond,  —  and  forgot  all  else. 
The  feeble  grasp  that  his  shaken  intellect  kept  of  the  events 
of  the  night  relaxed,  the  disguised  Lance,  the  story  of  his 
son,  the  murder,  slipped  into  nothingness  ;  there  remained 
only  the  one  idea,  his  nightly  watch  by  the  diamond  pit.  The 
instinct  of  long  habit  was  stronger  than  the  darkness  or  the 
onset  of  the  storm,  and  he  kept  his  tottering  way  over 
stream  and  fallen  timber  until  he  reached  the  spot.  A 
sudden  tremor  seemed  to  shake  the  lambent  flame  that  had 
lured  him  on.  He  thought  he  heard  the  sound  of  voices  ; 
there  were  signs  of  recent  disturbance,  —  footprints  in  the 
sawdust  !  With  a  cry  of  rage  and  suspicion  Fairley  slipped 
into  the  pit  and  sprang  toward  the  nearest  opening.  To 
his  frenzied  fancy  it  had  been  tampered  with,  his  secret  dis- 
covered, the  fruit  of  his  long  labors  stolen  from  him  that 
very  night.  With  superhuman  strength  he  began  to  open 
the  pit,  scattering  the  half-charred  logs  right  and  left,  and 
giving  vent  to  the  suffocating  gases  that  rose  from  the  now 
incandescent  charcoal.  At  times  the  fury  of  the  gale  would 
drive  it  back  and  hold  it  against  the  sides  of  the  pit,  leav- 
ing the  opening  free ;  at  times,  following  the  blind  instinct 
of  habit,  the  demented  man  would  fall  upon  his  face  and 
bury  his  nose  and  mouth  in  the  wet  bark  and  sawdust. 
At  last,  the  paroxysm  past,  he  sank  back  again  into  his  old 
apathetic  attitude  of  watching,  the  attitude  he  had  so  often 


FLIP  :    A   CALIFORNIA   ROMANCE  347 

kept  beside  his  sylvan  crucible.  In  this  attitude  and  in 
silence  he  waited  for  the  dawn. 

It  came  with  a  hush  in  the  storm ;  it  came  with  blue 
openings  in  the  broken-up  and  tumbled  heavens  ;  it  came 
with  stars  that  glistened  first,  and  then  paled,  and  at  last 
sank  drowning  in  those  deep  cerulean  lakes  ;  it  came  with 
those  cerulean  lakes  broadening  into  vaster  seas,  whose  shores 
expanded  at  last  into  one  illimitable  ocean,  cerulean  no  more; 
but  flecked  with  crimson  and  opal  dyes ;  it  came  with  the 
lightly  lifted  misty  curtain  of  the  day,  torn  and  rent  on  crag 
and  pine-top,  but  always  lifting,  lifting.  It  came  with  the 
sparkle  of  emerald  in  the  grasses,  and  the  flash  of  diamonds 
in  every  spray,  with  a  whisper  in  the  awakening  woods,  and 
voices  in  the  traveled  roads  and  trails. 

The  sound  of  these  voices  stopped  before  the  pit,  and 
seemed  to  interrogate  the  old  man.  He  came,  and,  putting 
his  fingers  on  his  lips,  made  a  sign  of  caution.  When  three 
or  four  men  had  descended  he  bade  them  follow  him,  say- 
ing, weakly  and  disjointedly,  but  persistently  :  "  My  boy  — 
my  son  Robert  —  came  home  —  came  home  at  last  —  here 
with  Flip  —  both  of  them  —  come  and  see  !  " 

He  had  reached  a  little  niche  or  nest  in  the  hillside, 
and  stopped,  and  suddenly  drew  aside  a  blanket.  Beneath 
it,  side  by  side,  lay  Flip  and  Lance,  dead,  with  their  cold 
hands  clasped  in  each  other's. 

"  Suffocated  ! "  said  two  or  three,  turning  with  horror 
toward  the  broken-up  and  still  smouldering  pit. 

"Asleep!  "  said  the  old  man.  "Asleep!  I've  seen  'em 
lying  that  way  when  they  wore  babies  together.  Don't  tell 
me !  Don't  say  I  don't  know  my  own  flesh  and  blood  ! 
So  !  so  !  So,  my  pretty  ones !  "  He  stooped  and  kissed 
them.  Then,  drawing  the  blanket  over  them  gently,  he 
rose  and  said  softly,  "  Good-night !  " 


FOUND   AT   BLAZING   STAE 

i 

THE  rain  had  only  ceased  with  the  gray  streaks  of  morn 
ing  at  Blazing  Star,  and  the  settlement  awoke  to  a  moral 
sense  of  cleanliness,  and  the  finding  of  forgotten  knives, 
tin  cups,  and  smaller  camp  utensils,  where  the  heavy 
showers  had  washed  away  the  debris  and  dust  heaps  before 
the  cabin  doors.  Indeed,  it  was  recorded  in  Blazing  Star 
that  a  fortunate  early  riser  had  once  picked  up  on  the  high- 
way a  solid  chunk  of  gold  quartz  which  the  rain  had  freed 
from  its  incumbering  soil,  and  washed  into  immediate  and 
glittering  popularity.  Possibly  this  may  have  been  the 
reason  why  early  risers  in  that  locality,  during  the  rainy 
season,  adopted  a  thoughtful  habit  of  body,  and  seldom 
lifted  their  eyes  to  the  rifted  or  india-ink  washed  skies 
above  them. 

"  Cass  "  Beard  had  risen  early  that  morning,  but  not 
with  a  view  to  discovery.  A  leak  in  his  cabin  roof  — 
quite  consistent  with  his  careless,  improvident  habits  — 
had  roused  him  at  four  A.  M.,  with  a  flooded  "  bunk  "  and 
wet  blankets.  The  chips  from  his  wood-pile  refused  'to 
kindle  a  fire  to  dry  his  bedclothes,  and  he  had  recourse 
to  a  more  provident  neighbor's  to  supply  the  deficiency. 
This  was  nearly  opposite.  Mr.  Cassius  crossed  the  high- 
way, and  stopped  suddenly.  Something  glittered  in  the 
nearest  red  pool  before  him.  Gold,  surely  !  But,  wonder- 
ful to  relate,  not  an  irregular,  shapeless  fragment  of  crude 
ore,  fresh  from  Nature's  crucible,  but  a  bit  of  jeweler's 
handicraft  in  the  form  of  a  plain  gold  ring.  Looking  at 
it  more  attentively,  he  saw  that  it  bore  the  inscription, 
"  May  to  Cess." 


FOUND   AT    BLAZING   STAR  349 

Like  most  of  his  fellow  gold-seekers,  Cass  was  super- 
stitious. "  Cass  !  "  His  own  name  !  He  tried  the  ring. 
It  fitted  his  little  finger  closely.  It  was  evidently  a 
woman's  ring.  He  looked  up  and  dpwn  the  highway. 
No  one  was  yet  stirring.  Little  pools  of  water  in  the  red 
road  were  beginning  to  glitter  and  grow  rosy  from  the 
far-flushing  east,  but  there  was  no  trace  of  the  owner  of  the 
shining  waif.  He  knew  that  there  was  no  woman  in 
camp,  and  among  his  few  comrades  in  the  settlement  he 
remembered  to  have  seen  none  wearing  an  ornament  like 
that.  Again,  the  coincidence  of  the  inscription  to  his 
rather  peculiar  nickname  would  have  been  a  "perennial 
source  of  playful  comment  in  a  camp  that  made  no  allow- 
ance for  sentimental  memories.  He  slipped  the  glittering 
little  hoop  into  his  pocket,  and  thoughtfully  returned  to 
his  cabin. 

Two  hours  later,  when  the  long,  straggling  procession, 
which  every  morning  wended  its  way  to  Blazing  Star 
Gulch,  —  the  seat  of  mining  operations  in  the  settlement, 
—  began  to  move,  Cass  saw  fit  to  interrogate  his  fellows. 

"  Ye  did  n't  none  on  ye  happen  to  drop  anything  round 
yer  last  night  ?  "  he  asked 'cautiously. 

"  I  dropped  a  pocketbook  containing  government  bonds 
and  some  other  securities,  with  between  fifty  and  sixty 
thousand  dollars,"  responded  Peter  Drummond  carelessly  ; 
"  but  no  matter,  if  any  man  will  return  a  few  autograph 
letters  from  foreign  potentates  that  happened  to  be  in  it,  — 
of  no  value  to  anybody  but  the  owner,  —  he  can  keep 
the  money.  That's  nothin'  mean  about  me,"  he  con- 
cluded languidly. 

This  statement,  bearing  every  evidence  of  the  grossest 
mendacity,  was  lightly  passed  over,  and  the  men  walked 
on  with  the  deepest  gravity. 

"  But  hev  you  ?  "   Cass  presently  asked  of  another. 

"  I  lost  my  pile  to  Jack  Hamlin  at   draw-poker,  over  at 


350  FOUND   AT   BLAZING   STAR 

Wingdam  last  night,"  returned  the  other  pensively,  "  but 
I  don't  calkilate  to  find  it  lying  round  loose." 

Forced  at  last  by  this  kind  of  irony  into  more  detailed 
explanation,  Cass.  confided  to  them  his  discovery,  and 
produced  his  treasure.  The  result  was  a  dozen  vague 
surmises, —  only  one  of  which  seemed  to  be  popular,  and 
to  suit  the  dyspeptic  despondency  of  the  party,  —  a  de- 
spondency born  of  hastily  masticated  fried  pork  and  flap- 
jacks. The  ring  was  believed  to  have  been  dropped  by 
some  passing  "  road  agent  "  laden  with  guilty  spoil. 

"  Ef  I  was  you,"  said  Drummond  gloomily,  "  I  would  n't 
flourish  that  yer  ring  around  much  afore  folks.  I  've  seen 
better  men  nor  you  strung  up  a  tree  by  Vigilantes  for  hav- 
ing even  less  than  that  in  their  possession." 

"And  I  would  n't  say  much  about  bein'  up  so  d — d 
early  this  morning,"  added  an  even  more  pessimistic  com- 
rade ;  "  it  might  look  bad  before  a  jury." 

With  this  the  men  sadly  dispersed,  leaving  the  innocent 
Cass  with  the  ring  in  his  hand,  and  a  general  impression  on 
his  mind  that  he  was  already  on  object  of  suspicion  to  his 
comrades, —  an  impression,  it  is  hardly  necessary  to  say, 
they  fully  intended  should  be  left  to  rankle  in  his  guileless 
bosom. 

Notwithstanding  Cass's  first  hopeful  superstition,  the 
ring  did  not  seem  to  bring  him  nor  the  camp  any  luck. 
Daily  the  "  clean  up  "  brought  the  same  scant  rewards  to 
their  labors,  and  deepened  the  sardonic  gravity  of  Blazing 
Star.  But  if  Cass  found  no  material  result  from  his 
treasure,  it  stimulated  his  lazy  imagination,  and,  albeit  a 
dangerous  and  seductive  stimulant,  at  least  lifted  him  out 
of  the  monotonous  grooves  of  his  half-careless,  half-slovenly, 
but  always  self-contented  camp  life.  Heeding  the  wise 
caution  of  his  comrades,  he  took  the  habit  of  wearing  the 
ring  only  at  night.  Wrapped  in  his  blanket,  he  stealthily 
slipped  the  golden  circlet  over  his  little  finger,  and,  as  he 


FOUND   AT   BLAZING  STAR  351 

averred,  "slept  all  the  better  for  it."  Whether  it  ever 
evoked  any  warmer  dream  or  vision  during  those  calm,  cold, 
virgin-like  spring  nights,  when  even  the  moon  and  the 
greater  planets  retreated  into  the  icy-blue,  steel-like  firma- 
ment, I  cannot  say.  Enough  that  this  superstition  began 
to  be  colored  a  little  by  fancy,  and  his  fatalism  somewhat 
mitigated  by  hope.  Dreams  of  this  kind  did  not  tend  to 
promote  his  efficiency  in  the  communistic  labors  of  the 
camp,  and  brought  him  a  self-isolation  that,  however  gratify- 
ing at  first,  soon  debarred  him  the  benefits  of  that  hard 
practical  wisdom  which  underlaid  the  grumbling  of  his 
fellow  workers. 

"I'm  dog-goned,"  said  one  commentator,  "  ef  I  don't 
believe  that  Cass  is  looney  over, that  yer  ring  he  found. 
Wears  it  on  a  string  under  his  shirt." 

Meantime,  the  seasons  did  not  wait  the  discovery  of  the 
secret.  The  red  pools  in  Blazing  Star  highway  were  soon 
dried  up  in  the  fervent  June  sun  and  riotous  night  winds 
of  those  altitudes.  The  ephemeral  grasses  that  had  quickly 
supplanted  these  pools  and  the  chocolate-colored  mud,  were 
as  quickly  parched  and  withered.  The  footprints  of  spring 
became  vague  and  indefinite,  and  were  finally  lost  in  the 
impalpable  dust  of  the  summer  highway. 

In  one  of  his  long,  aimless  excursions,  Cass  had  pene- 
trated a  thick  undergrowth  of  buckeye  and  hazel,  and  found 
himself  quite  unexpectedly  upon  the  highroad  to  Ked 
Chief's  Crossing.  Cass  knew  by  the  lurid  cloud  of  dust 
that  hid  the  distance  that  the  up  coach  had  passed.  He 
had  already  reached  that  stage  of  superstition  when  the 
most  trivial  occurrence  seemed  to  point  in  some  way  to  an 
elucidation  of  the  mystery  of  his  treasure.  His  eyes  had 
mechanically  fallen  to  the  ground  again,  as  if  he  half  ex- 
pected to  find  in  some  other  waif  a  hint  or  corroboration 
of  his  imaginings.  Thus  abstracted,  the  figure  of  a  young 
girl  on  horseback,  in  the  road  directly  before  the  bushes  he 


FOUND   AT   BLAZING   STAR 

emerged  from,  appeared  to  have  sprung  directly  from  the 
ground. 

"  Oh,  come  here,  please  dp  ;   quick  !  " 

Cass  stared,  and  then  moved  hesitatingly  toward  her. 

"  I  heard  some  one  coming  through  the  bushes,  and  I 
waited,"  she  went  on.  "Come  quick.  It's  something 
too  awful  for  anything." 

In  spite  of  this  appalling  introduction,  Cass  could  not 
but  notice  that  the  voice,  although  hurried  and  excited,  was 
by  no  means  agitated  or  frightened  ;  that  the  eyes  which 
looked  into  his  sparkled  with  a  certain  kind  of  pleased 
curiosity. 

"It  Avas  just  here,"  she  went  on  vivaciously,  "  just  here 
that  I  went  into  the  bush  and  cut  a  switch  for  my  mare,  — 
and,"  —  leading  him  along  at  a  brisk  trot  by  her  side,  — 
"just  here,  look,  see!  this  is  what  I  found." 

It  was  scarcely  thirty  feet  from  the  road.  The  only  ob- 
ject that  met  Cass's  eye  was  a  man's  stiff,  tall  hat,  lying 
emptily  and  vacantly  in  the  grass.  It  was  new,  shiny,  and 
of  modish  shape.  But  it  was  so  incongruous,  so  perkily 
smart,  and  yet  so  feeble  and  helpless  lying  there,  so  ghastly 
ludicrous  in  its  very  inappropriateness  and  incapacity  to  ad- 
just itself  to  the  surrounding  landscape,  that  it  affected  him 
with  something  more  than  a  sense  of  its  grotesqueness,  and 
he  could  only  stare  at  it  blankly. 

"  But  you  're  not  looking  the  right  way,"  the  girl  went 
on  sharply  ;  "  look  there  !  " 

Cass  followed  the  direction  of  her  whip.  At  last,  what 
might  have  seemed  a  coat  thrown  carelessly  on  the  ground 
met  his  eye,  but  presently  he  became  aware  of  a  white, 
rigid,  aimlessly-clinched  hand  protruding  from  the  flaccid 
sleeve  ;  mingled  with  it  in  some  absurd  way  and  half  hid- 
den by  the  grass,  lay  what  might  have  been  a  pair  of  cast- 
off  trousers  but  for  two  rigid  boots  that  pointed  in  opposite 
angles  to  the  sky.  It  was  a  dead  man !  So  palpably 


FOUND   AT   BLAZING   STAR  353 

dead  that  life  seemed  to  have  taken  flight  from  his  very 
clothes.  So  impotent,  feeble,  and  degraded  by  them  that 
the  'naked  subject  of  a  dissecting-table  would  have  been 
less  insulting  to  humanity.  The  head  had  fallen  back,  and 
was  partly  hidden  in  a  gopher  burrow,  but  the  white,  up- 
turned face  and  closed  eyes  had  less  of  helpless  death  in 
them  than  those  wretched  enwrappings.  Indeed,  one  limp 
hand  that  lay  across  the  swollen  abdomen  lent  itself  to  the 
grotesquely  hideous  suggestion  of  a  gentleman  sleeping  off 
the  excesses  of  a  hearty  dinner. 

"  Ain't  he  horrid  ?  "  continued  the  girl ;  "  but  what 
killed  him  ?  " 

Struggling  between  a  certain  fascination  at  the  girl's 
cold-blooded  curiosity  and  horror  of  the  murdered  man, 
Cass  hesitatingly  lifted  the  helpless  head.  A  bluish  hole 
above  the  right  temple,  and  a  few  brown  paint-like  spots 
on  the  forehead,  shirt  collar,  and .  matted  hair,  proved  the 
only  record. 

"  Turn  him  over  again,"  said  the  girl  impatiently,  as 
Cass  was  about  to  relinquish  his  burden.  "  Maybe  you  '11 
find  another  wound." 

But  Cass  was  dimly  remembering  certain  formalities 
that  in  older  civilizations  attend  the  discovery  of  dead 
bodies,  and  postponed  a  present  inquest. 

"Perhaps  you'd  better  ride  on,  miss,  afore  you  get 
summoned  as  a  witness.  I  '11  give  warning  at  Red  Chief's 
Crossing,  and  send  the  coroner  down  here." 

"  Let  me  go  with  you,"  she  said  earnestly  ;  "  it  would 
be  such  fun.  I  don't  mind  being  a  witness.  Or,"  she 
added,  without  heeding  Cass's  look  of  astonishment,  "  I  '11 
wait  here  till  you  come  back." 

"  But  you  see,  miss,  it  would  n't  seem  right  "  —  began 
Cass. 

"But  I  found  him  first/'  interrupted  the  girl,  with  a 
pout. 


354  FOUND   AT   BLAZING   STAR 

Staggered  by  this  preemptive  right,  sacred  to  all  miners, 
Cass  stopped. 

"  Who  is  the  coroner  ?  "  she  asked. 

"  Joe  Hornsby."  '   . 

"  The  tall,  lame  man,  who  was  half  eaten  by  a  grizzly  ?  " 

"  Yes." 

"  Well,  look  now  !  I  '11  ride  on  and  bring  him  back  in 
half  an  hour.  There  !  " 

"  But,  miss  "  — 

"  Oh,  don't  mind  me.  I  never  saw  anything  of  this  kind 
before,  and  I  want  to  see  it  all." 

"  Do  you  know  Hornsby  ?  "  asked  Cass,  unconsciously 
a  trifle  irritated. 

"  No,  but  I  '11  bring  him."  She  wheeled  her  horse  into 
the  road. 

In  the  presence  of  this  living  energy  Cass  quite  forgot 
the  helpless  dead.  "  Have  you  been  long  in  these  parts, 
miss  ?  "  he  asked. 

"About  two  weeks,-"  she  answered  shortly.  "Good-by, 
just  now.  Look  around  for  the  pistol  or  anything  else 
you  can  find,  although  /  have  been  over  the  whole  ground 
twice  already." 

A  little  puff  of  dust  as  the  horse  sprang  into  the  road,  a 
muffled  shuffle,  struggle,  then  the  regular  beat  of  hoofs,  and 
she  was  gone. 

After  five  minutes  had  passed,  Cass  regretted  that  he 
had  not  accompanied  her :  waiting  in  such  a  spot  was  an 
irksome  task.  Not  that  there  was  anything  in  the  scene 
itself  to  awaken  gloomy  imaginings ;  the  bright,  truthful 
Californian  sunshine  scoffed  at  any  illusion  of  creeping 
shadows  or  waving  branches.  Once,  in  the  rising  wind, 
the  empty  hat  rolled  over  —  but  only  in  a  ludicrous, 
drunken  way.  A  search  for  any  further  sign  or  token  had 
proved  futile,  and  Cass  grew  impatient.  He  began  to  hate 
himself  for  having  stayed  ;  he  would  have  fled  but  for 


FOUND   AT   BLAZING  STAR  355 

shame.  Nor  was  his  good  humor  restored  when  at  the  close 
of  a  weary  half-hour  two  galloping  figures  emerged  from 
the  dusty  horizon  —  Hornsby  and  the  young  girl. 

His  vague  annoyance  increased  as  he  fancied  that  both 
seemed  to  ignore  him,  the  coroner  barely  acknowledging  his 
presence  with  a  nod.  Assisted  by  the  young  girl,  whose 
energy  and  enthusiasm  evidently  delighted  him,  Hornsby 
raised  the  body  for  a  more  careful  examination.  The  dead 
man's  pockets  were  carefully  searched.  A  few  coins,  a  sil- 
ver pencil,  knife,  arid  tobacco-box  were  all  they  found.  It 
gave  no  clue  to  his  identity.  Suddenly  the  young  girl,  who 
had,  with  unabashed  curiosity,  knelt  beside  the  exploring 
official  hands  of  the  Red  Chief,  uttered  a  cry  of  gratification. 

"  Here  's  something  !  It  dropped  from  the  bosom  of  his 
shirt  on  the  ground.  Look  !  " 

She  was  holding  in  the  air,  between  her  thumb  and  fore 
finger,  a  folded  bit  of  well-worn  newspaper.  Her  eyes 
sparkled. 

"  Shall  I  open  it  ?  "  she  asked.     «*•...- 

"  Yes." 

"  It 's  a  little  ring,"  she  said  ;  "  looks  like  an  engage- 
ment ring.  Something  is  written  on  it.  Look  !  '  May  to 
Cass.'  " 

Cass  darted  forward.  "  It 's  mine,"  he  stammered, 
"  mine  !  I  dropped  it.  It 's  nothing  —  nothing,"  he  went 
on,  after  a  pause,  embarrassed  and  blushing,  as  the  girl  and 
her  companion  both  stared  at  him  ;  "  a  mere  trifle.  I  '11 
take  it." 

But  the  coroner  opposed  his  outstretched  hand.  "  Not 
much,"  he  said  significantly. 

"  But  it's  mine"  continued  Cass,  indignation  taking  the 
place  of  shame  at  his  discovered  secret.  "  I  found  it  six 
months  ago  in  the  road.  I  —  picked  it  up." 

"  With  your  name  already  written  on  it !  How  handy  !  * 
said  the  coroner  grimly. 


So  6  FOUND   AT   BLAZING   STAR 

"  It  's  an  old  story,"  said  Cass,  blushing  again  undei 
the  half-mischievous,  half-searching  eyes  of  the  girl.  "  All 
Blazing  Star  knows  I  found  it." 

"  Then  ye  '11  have  no  difficulty  in  provin'  it,"  said 
Hornsby  coolly.  "Just  now,  however,  we've  found  it, 
and  we  propose  to  keep  it  for  the  inquest." 

Cass  shrugged  his  shoulders.  Further  altercation  would 
have  only  heightened  his  ludicrous  situation  in  the  girl's 
eyes.  He  turned  away,  leaving  his  treasure  in  the  coroner's 
hands. 

The  inquest,  a  day  or  two  later,  was  prompt  and  final. 
No  clue  to  the  dead  man's  identity  ;  no  evidence  sufficiently 
strong  to  prove  murder  or  suicide  ;  no  trace  of  any  kind, 
inculpating  any  party,  known  or  unknown,  were  found. 
But  much  publicity  and  interest  were  given  to  the  proceed- 
ings by  the  presence  of  the  principal  witness,  a  handsome 
girl.  "  To  the  pluck,  persistency,  and  intellect  of  Miss 
Porter,"  said  the  "  Red  Chief  Recorder,"  "  Tuolumne 
County  owes  the  recovery  of  the  body." 

No  one  who  was  pre^pnt  at  the  inquest  failed  to  be 
charmed  with  the  appearance  and  conduct  of  this  beautiful 
young  lady. 

"  Miss  Porter  has  but  lately  arrived  in  this  district,  in 
which,  it  is  hoped,  she  will  become  an  honored  resident, 
and  continue  to  set  an  example  to  all  lackadaisical  and 
sentimental  members  of  the  so-called  '  sterner  sex.'  ' 
After  this  universally  recognized  allusion  to  Cass  Beard, 
the  "  Recorder  "  returned  to  its  record :  "  Some  interest 
was  excited  by  what  appeared  to  be  a  clue  to  the  mystery 
in  the  discovery  of  a  small  gold  engagement  ring  on  the 
body.  Evidence  was  afterward  offered  to  show  it  was  the 
property  of  a  Mr.  Cass  Beard  of  Blazing  Star,  who  appeared 
upon  the  scene  after  the  discovery  of  the  corpse  by  Miss 
Porter.  He  alleged  he  had  dropped  it  in  lifting  the  un- 
fortunate remains  of  the  deceased.  Much  amusement  was 


FOUND   AT   BLAZING   STAR  357 

created  in  court  by  the  sentimental  confusion  of  the  claim- 
ant, and  a  certain  partisan  spirit  shown  by  his  fellow  miners 
of  Blazing  Star.  It  appearing,  however,  by  the  admission 
of  this  sighing  Strephon  of  the  Foothills,  that  he  had  him- 
self found  this  pledge  of  affection  lying  in  the  highway  six 
months  previous,  the  coroner  wisely  placed  it  in  the  safe- 
keeping of  the  county  court  until  the  appearance  of  the 
rightful  owner." 

Thus  on  the  13th  of  September,  186-,  the  treasure  found 
at  Blazing  Star  passed  out  of  the  hands  of  its  finder. 

Autumn  brought  an  abrupt  explanation  of  the  mystery. 
Kanaka  Joe  had  been  arrested  for  horse-stealing,  but  had 
with  noble  candor  confessed  to  the  finer  offense  of  man- 
slaughter. That  swift  and  sure  justice  which  overtook  the 
horse-stealer  in  these  altitudes  was  stayed  a  moment  and 
hesitated,  for  the  victim  was  clearly  the  mysterious  un- 
known. Curiosity  got  the  better  of  an  extempore  judge 
and  jury. 

"  It  was  a  fair  fight,"  said  the  accused,  not  without  some 
human  vanity,  feeling  that  the  camp  hung  upon  his  words, 
"  and  was  settled  by  the  man  az  was  peartest  and  liveliest 
with  his  weapon.  We  had  a  sort  of  unpleasantness  over  at 
Lagrange  the  night  afore,  along  of  our  both  hevnv  a  monot- 
ony of  four  aces.  We  had  a  clinch  and  a  stamp  around, 
and  when  we  was  separated  it  was  only  a  question  of  shoot- 
in'  on  sight.  He  left  Lagrange  at  sun-up  the  next  morn- 
ing, and  I  struck  across  a  bit  o'  buckeye  and  underbrush 
and  came  upon  him,  accidental  like,  on  the  Red  Chief 
Eoad.  I  drawed  when  I  sighted  him,  and  called  out.  He 
slipped  from  his  mare  and  covered  himself  with  her  flanks, 
reaching  for  his  holster,  but  she  rared  and  backed  down 
on  him  across  the  road  and  into  the  grass,  where  I  got 
in  another  shot  and  fetched  him." 

"  And  you  stole  his  mare  ?  "  suggested  the  Judge. 


858  FOUND   AT   BLAZING   STAR 

"  I  got  away,"  said  the  gambler  simply. 

Further  questioning  only  elicited  the  fact  that  Joe  did 
not  know  the  name  or  condition  of  his  victim.  He  was  a 
stranger  in  Lagrange. 

It  was  a  breezy  afternoon,  with  some  turbulency  in  the 
camp,  and  much  windy  discussion  over  this  unwonted  de- 
lay of  justice.  The  suggestion  that  Joe  should  be  first 
hanged  for  horse-stealing  and  then  tried  for  murder  was 
angrily  discussed,  but  milder  counsels  were  offered  —  that 
the  fact  of  the  killing  should  be  admitted  only  as  proof 
of  the  theft.  A  large  party  from  Red  Chief  had  come  over 
to  assist  in  judgment,  among  them  the  coroner. 

Cass  Beard  had  avoided  these  proceedings,  which  only 
recalled  an  unpleasant  experience,  and  was  wandering 
with  pick,  pan,  and  wallet  far  from  the  camp.  These  ac- 
coutrements, as  I  have  before  intimated,  justified  any  form 
of  aimless  idleness  under  the  equally  aimless  title  of 
"prospecting."  He  had  at  the  end  of  three  hours'  re- 
laxation reached  the  highway  to  Red  Chief,  half  hidden 
by  blinding  clouds  of  dust  torn  from  the  crumbling  red 
road  at  every  gust  which  swept  down  the  mountain-side. 
The  spot  had  a  familiar  aspect  to  Cass,  although  some 
freshly  dug  holes  near  the  wayside,  with  scattered  earth 
beside  them,  showed  the  presence  of  a  recent  prospector. 
He  was  struggling  with  his  memory,  when  the  dust  was 
suddenly  dispersed,  and  he  found  himself  again  at  the 
scene  of  the  murder.  He  started :  he  had  not  put  foot 
on  the  road  since  the  inquest.  There  lacked  only  the 
helpless  dead  man  and  the  contrasting  figure  of  the  alert 
young  woman  to  restore  the  picture.  The  body  was 
gone,  it  was  true,  but  as  he  turned  he  beheld  Miss  Porter, 
at  a  few  paces  distant,  sitting  her  horse  as  energetic  and 
observant  as  on  the  first  morning  they  had  met.  A  su- 
perstitious thrill  passed  over  him  and  awoke  his  old 
antagonism. 


FOUND   AT   BLAZING   STAR  359 

She  nodded  to  him  slightly.  "  I  came  here  to  refresh 
my  memory,"  she  said,  "as  Mr.  Hornsbr  thought  I  might 
be  asked  to  give  my  evidence  again  at  Blazing  Star." 

Cass  carelessly  struck  an  aimless  blow  with  his  pick 
against  the  sod,  and  did  not  reply. 

"  And  you  ?  "  she  queried. 

"  /  stumbled  upon  the  place  just  now  while  prospecting, 
or  I  shouldn't  he  here." 

"  Then  it  was  you  made  these  holes  ?  " 

"  No,"  said  Cass,  with  ill-concealed  disgust.  "  Nobody 
but  a  stranger  would  go  foolin'  round  such  a  spot." 

He  stopped,  as  the  rude  significance  of  his  speech 
struck  him,  and  added  surlily,  "  I  mean  —  no  one  would 
dig  here." 

The  girl  laughed,  and  showed  a  set  of  very  white  teeth 
in  her  square  jaw.  Cass  averted  his  face. 

"  Do  you  mean  to  say  that  every  miner  does  n't  know 
that  it's  lucky  to  dig  wherever  human  blood  has  been 
spilt  ?  " 

Caps  felt  a  return  of  his  superstition,  but  he  did  not 
look  up.  "  I  never  her.rd  it  before,"  he  said  severely. 

"  And  you  call  yourself  a  California  miner  ?  " 

"I  do." 

It  was  impossible  for  Miss  Porter  to  misunderstand  his 
curt  speech  and  unsocial  manner.  She  stared  at  him  and 
colored  slightly.  Lifting  her  reins  lightly,  she  said  : 
"  You  certainly  do  not  seem  like  most  of  the  miners  I  have 
met." 

"  Nor  you  like  any  girl  from  the  East  I  ever  met,"  he 
responded. 

<(  What  do  you  mean  ?  "  she  asked,  checking  her  horse. 

"  What  I  say,"  he  answered  doggedly.  Reasonable  as 
this  reply  was,  it  immediately  struck  him  that  it  was 
scarcely  dignified  or  manly.  But  before  he  could  explain 
himself  Miss  Porter  was  gone. 


360  FOUND   AT    BLAZING   STAR 

He  met  her  again  that  very  evening.  The  trial  had 
been  summarily  suspended  by  the  appearance  of  the 
Sheriff  of  Calaveras  and  his  posse,  who  took  Joe  from 
that  self-constituted  tribunal  of  Blazing  Star  and  set  his 
face  southward  and  toward  authoritative  although  more 
cautious  justice.  But  not  before  the  evidence  of  the 
previous  inquest  had  been  read,  and  the  incident  of  the 
ring  again  delivered  to  the  public.  It  is  said  the  prisoner 
burst  into  an  incredulous  laugh  and  asked  to  see  this 
mysterious  waif.  It  was  handed  to  him.  Standing  in 
the  very  shadow  of  the  gallows  tree  —  which  might  have 
been  one  of  the  pines  that  sheltered  the  billiard-room  in 
which  the  Vigilance  Committee  held  their  conclave  —  the 
prisoner  gave  way  to  a  burst  of  merriment,  so  genuine  and 
honest  that  the  judge  and  jury  joined  in  automatic  sym- 
pathy. When  silence  was  restored  an  explanation  was 
asked  by  the  Judge.  But  there  was  no  response  from  the 
prisoner  except  a  subdued  chuckle. 

"  Did  this  ring  belong  to  you  ?  "  asked  the  Judge  se- 
verely, the  jury  and  spectators  craning  their  ears  forward 
with  an  expectant  smile  already  on  their  faces.  But  the 
prisoner's  eyes  only  sparkled  maliciously  as  he  looked 
around  the  court. 

"  Tell  us,  Joe,"  said  a  sympathetic  and  laughter-loving 
juror,  under  his  breath.  "  Let  it  out  and  we  '11  make  it 
easy  for  you." 

<:  Prisoner,"  said  the  Judge,  with  a  return  of  official 
dignity,  "  remember  that  your  life  is  in  peril.  Do  you 
refuse  ?  " 

Joe  lazily  laid  his  arm  on  the  back  of  his  chair  with 
(to  quote  the  words  of  an  animated  observer)  "  the  air  of 
having  a  Christian  hope  and  a  sequence  flush  in  his  hand," 
and  said  :  "Well,  as  I  reckon  I'm  not  up  yer  for  stealin' 
a  ring  that  another  man  lets  on  to  have  found,  and,  as  fur 
as  I  kiu  see,  hez  nothin'  to  do  with  the  case,  I  do !  "  And 


FOUND    AT    BLAZING    STAR  361 

as  it  was  here  that  the  Sheriff  of  Calaveras  made  a  precipi- 
tate entry  into  the  room,  the  mystery  remained  unsolved. 

The  effect  of  this  freshly  important  ridicule  on  the  sen- 
sitive mind  of  Cass  might  have  been  foretold  by  Blazing 
Star  had  it  ever  taken  that  sensitiveness  into  consideration. 
He  had  lost  the  good  humor  and  easy  pliability  which  had 
tempted  him  to  frankness,  and  he  had  gradually  become 
bitter  and  hard.  He  had  at  first  affected  amusement  over 
his  own  vanished  day-dream  —  hiding  his  virgin  disap- 
pointment in  his  own  breast ;  but  when  he  began  to 
turn  upon  his  feelings  he  turned  upon  his  comrades  also. 
Cass  was  for  a  while  unpopular.  There  is  no  ingratitude 
so  revolting  to  the  human  mind  as  that  of  the  butt  who 
refuses  to  be  one  any  longer.  The  man  who  rejects  that 
immunity  which  laughter  generally  casts  upon  him  and  de- 
mands to  be  seriously  considered  deserves  no  mercy. 

It  was  under  these  hard  conditions  that  Cass  Beard, 
convicted  of  overt  sentimentalism,  aggravated  by  incon- 
sistency, stepped  into  the  Red  Chief  coach  that  evening. 
It  was  his  habit  usually  to  ride  with  the  driver,  but  the 
presence  of  Hornsby  and  Miss  Porter  on  the  box-seat 
changed  his  intention.  Yet  he  had  the  satisfaction  of 
seeing  that  neither  had  noticed  him,  and  as  there  was  no 
other  passenger  inside,  he  stretched  himself  on  the  cushion 
of  the  back  seat  and  gave  way  to  moody  reflections.  He 
quite  determined  to  leave  Blazing  Star,  to  settle  himself 
seriously  to  the  task  of  money-getting,  and  to  return  to  his 
comrades,  some  day,  a  sarcastic,  cynical,  successful  man, 
and  so  overwhelm  them  with  confiision.  For  poor  Cass 
had  not  yet  reached  that  superiority  of  knowing  that 
success  would  depend  upon  his  ability  to  forego  his  past. 
Indeed,  part  of  his  boyhood  had  been  cast  among  these 
men,  and  he  was  not  old  enough  to  have  learned  that 
success  was  not  to  be  gauged  by  their  standard.  The 
moon  lif  up  the  dark  interior  of  the  coach  with  a  faint 


362  FOUND    AT   BLAZING    STAR 

poetic  light.  The  lazy  swinging  of  the  vehicle  that  was 
hearing  him  away,  —  albeit  only  for  a  night  and  a  day,  — 
the  solitude,  the  glimpses  from  the  window  of  great  dis- 
tances full  of  vague  possibilities,  made  the  abused  ring 
potent  as  that  of  Gyges.  He  dreamed  with  his  eyes  open. 
From  an  Alnaschar  vision  he  suddenly  awoke.  The  coach 
had  stopped.  The  voices  of  men,  one  in  entreaty,  one  in 
expostulation,  came  from  the  box.  Cass  mechanically  put 
his  hand  to  his  pistol  pocket. 

"  Thank  you,  but  I  insist  upon  getting  down." 

It  was  Miss  Porter's  voice.  This  was  followed  by  a 
rapid,  half-restrained  interchange  of  words  between  Hornsby 
and  the  driver.  Then  the  latter  said  gruffly  :  — 

"If  the  lady  wants  to  ride  inside,  let  her." 

Miss  Porter  fluttered  to  the  ground.  She  was  followed 
by  Hornsby.  "  Just  a  minit,  miss,"  he  expostulated, 
half  shamedly,  half  brusquely,  "  ye  don't  onderstand  me. 
I  only"  — 

But  Miss  Porter  had  jumped  into  the  coach. 

Hornsby  placed  his  hand  on  the  handle  of  the  door. 
Mdss  Porter  grasped  it  firmly  from  the  inside.  There 
was  a  slight  struggle. 

All  of  which  was  part  of  a  dream  to  the  boyish  Cass. 
XJut  he  awoke  from  it  —  a  man  !  "  Do  you,"  he  asked, 
:  n  a  voice  he  scarcely  recognized  himself,  —  "  do  you 
«vant  this  man  inside  ?  " 

"  No  ! " 

Cass  caught  at  Hornby's  wrist  like  a  young  tiger. 
But  alas !  what  availed  instinctive  chivalry  against  main 
strength  ?  He  only  succeeded  in  forcing  the  door  open 
in  spite  of  .  Miss  Porter's  superior  strategy,  and  —  I  fear 
I  must  add,  muscle  also  —  and  threw  himself  passionately  at 
Hornsby's  throat,  where  he  hung  on  and  calmly  awaited 
dissolution.  But  he  had,  in  the  onset,  driven  Hornsby 
out  into  the  road  and  the  moonlight. 


FOUND   AT   BLAZING   STAR  363 

"  Here  !  somebody  take  my  lines."  The  voice  was 
:l  Mountain  Charley's,"  the  driver.  The  figure  that 
jumped  from  the  box  and  separated  the  struggling  men 
belonged  to  this  singularly  direct  person. 

"  You  're  riding  inside  ?  "  said  Charley  interrogatively, 
to  Cass.  Before  he  could  reply  Miss  Porter's  voice  came 
from  the  window  :  — 

"  He  is  !  " 

Charley  promptly  bundled  Cass  into  the  coach. 

"  And  you  !  "  to  Hornsby,  "  onless  you  're  kalkilatin* 
to  take  a  little  pasear  you  're  booked  outside.  Get  up." 

It  is  probable  that  Charley  assisted  Mr.  Hornsby  as 
promptly  to  his  seat,  for  the  next  moment  the  coach  was 
rolling  on. 

Meanwhile  Cass,  by  reason  of  his  forced  entry,  had 
been  deposited  in  Miss  Porter's  lap,  whence,  freeing  him- 
self, he  had  attempted  to  climb  over  the  middle  seat,  but 
in  the  starting  of  the  coach  was  again  thrown  heavily 
against  her  hat  and  shoulder  ;  all  of  which  was  inconsist- 
ent with  the  attitude  of  dignified  reserve  he  had  intended 
to  display.  Miss  Porter,  meanwhile,  recovered  her  good 
humor. 

"  What  a  brute  he  was,  ugh !  "  she  said,  re-tying  the 
ribbons  of  her  bonnet  under  her  square  chin,  and  smooth- 
ing out  her  linen  duster. 

Cass  tried  to  look  as  if  he  had  forgotten  the  whole 
affair.  "  Who  ?  Oh,  yes  !  I  see  !  "  he  responded  ab- 
sently. 

"  I  suppose  I  ought  to  thank  you,"  she  went  on  with  a 
smile,  "but  you  know,  really,  I  could  have  kept  him  out 
if  you  had  n't  pulled  his  wrist  from  outside.  I  '11  show 
you.  Look  !  Put  your  hand  on  the  handle  there  !  Now, 
I  '11  hold  the  lock  inside  firmly.  You  see,  you  can't  turn 
the  catch  !  " 

She  indeed  held  the  lock  fast.     It  was  a  firm  hand,  yet 


364  FOUND   AT   BLAZING   STAR 

soft,  —  their  fingers  had  touched  over  the  handle,  —  and 
looked  white  in  the  moonlight.  He  made  no  reply,  but 
sank  hack  again  in  his  seat  with  a  singular  sensation  in  the 
fingers  that  had  touched  hers.  He  was  in  the  shadow,  and, 
without  being  seen,  could  abandon  his  reserve  and  glance  at 
her  face.  It  struck  him  that  he  had  never  really  seen  her 
before.  She  was  not  so  tall  as  she  had  appeared  to  be. 
Her  eyes  were  not  large,  but  her  pupils  were  black,  moist, 
velvety,  and  so  convex  as  to  seem  embossed  on  the  white. 
She  had  an  indistinctive  nose,  a  rather  colorless  face  —  whiter 
at  the  angles  of  the  mouth  and  nose  through  the  relief 
of  tiny  freckles  like  grains  of  pepper.  Her  mouth  was 
straight,  dark,  red,  but  moist  as  her  eyes.  She  had  drawn 
herself  into  the  corner  of  the  back  seat,  her  wrist  put 
through  and  hanging  over  the  swinging  strap,  the  easy  lines 
of  her  plump  figure  swaying  from  side  to  side  with  the  mo- 
tion of  the  coach.  Finally,  forgetful  of  any  presence  in  the 
dark  corner  opposite,  she  threw  her  head  a  little  farther 
back,  slipped  a  trifle  lower,  and  placing  two  well-booted 
feet  upon  the  middle  seat,  completed  a  charming  and  whole- 
some picture. 

Five  minutes  elapsed.  3he  was  looking  straight  at  the 
moon.  Cass  Beard  felt  his  dignified  reserve  becoming  very 
much  like  awkwardness.  He  ought  to  be  coldly  polite. 

"  I  hope  you  're  not  flustered,  miss,  by  the  —  by  the  " 
—  he  began. 

"  I  ?  "  She  straightened  herself  up  in  the  seat,  case  a 
.curious  glance  into  the  dark  corner,  and  then,  letting  her- 
self down  again,  said  :  "  Oh  dear,  no  !  " 

Another  five  minutes  elapsed.  She  had  evidently  for- 
gotten him.  She  might,  at  least,  have  been  civil.  He 
took  refuge  again  in  his  reserve.  But  it  was  now  mixed 
with  a  certain  pique. 

Yet  how  much  softer  her  face  looked  in  the  moonlight ! 
Even  her  square  jaw  had  lost  that  hard,  matter-of-fact. 


FOUND   AT   BLAZING   STAR  365 

practical  indication  which  was  so  distasteful  to  him,  and 
always  had  suggested  a  harsh  criticism  of  his  weakness. 
How  moist  her  eyes  we're  —  actually  shining  in  the  light ! 
How  that  light  seemed  to  concentrate  in  the  corners  of  the 
lashes,  and  then  slipped  —  a  flash  —  away  !  Was  she  ? 
Yes,  she  was  crying. 

Cass  melted.  He  moved.  Miss  Porter  put  her  head 
out  of  the  window  and  drew  it  back  in  a  moment  dry- 
eyed. 

"  One  meets  all  sorts  of  folks  traveling,"  said  Cass,- 
with  what  he  wished  to  make  appear  a  cheerful  philosophy. 

"  I  dare  say.  I  don't  know.  I  never  before  met  any 
one  who  was  rude  to  me.  I  have  traveled  all  over  the 
country  alone,  and  with  all  kinds  of  people  ever  since  I 
was  so  high.  I  have  always  gone  jny  own  way,  without 
hindrance  or  trouble.  I  always  do.  I  don't  see  why  I 
should  n't.  Perhaps  other  people  may  n't  like  it.  I  do. 
I  like  excitement.  I  like  to  see  all  that  there  is  to  see. 
Because  I'm  a  girl  I  don't  see  why  I  can't  go  out  without 
a  keeper,  and  why  I  cannot  do  what  any  man  can  do  that 
isn't  wrong;  do  you?  Perhaps  you  do — perhaps  you 
don't.  Perhaps  you  like  a  girl  to  be  always  in  the  house 
dawdling  or  thumping  a  piano  or  reading  novels.  Perhaps 
you  think  I  'm  bold  because  I  don't  like  it,  and  won't  lie 
and  say  I  do." 

She  spoke  sharply  and  aggressively,  and  so  evidently  in 
answer  to  Cass's  unspoken  indictment  against  her,  that  he 
was  not  surprised  when  she  became  more  direct. 

"You  know  you  were  shocked  when  I  went  to  fetch 
that  Hornsby,  the  coroner,  after  we  found  the  dead  body." 

"  Hornsby  was  n't  shocked,"  said  Cass  a  little  viciously. 

"  What  do  you  mean  ?  "  she  said  abruptly. 

"  You  were  good  friends  enough  until  "  — 

"  Until  he  insulted  me  just  now  ;  is  that  it  ?  " 

"  Until  he  thought,"  stammered  Cass,  "  that  because  you 


366  FOUND    AT   BLAZING   STAB 

were  —  you  know  —  not  so  —  so  —  so  careful  as  other  girls, 
he  could  be  a  little  freer." 

"  And  so,  because  I  preferred  to  ride  a  mile  with  him  to 
see  something  real  that  had  happened,  and  tried  to  be 
useful  instead  of  looking  in  shop  windows  in  Main  Street 
or  promenading  before  the  hotel  "  — 

"  And  being  ornamental,"  interrupted  Cass.  But  this 
feeble  and  un-Cass-like  attempt  at  playful  gallantry  met 
with  a  sudden  check. 

•  Miss  Porter  drew  herself  together,  and  looked  out  of  the 
window.  "  Do  you  wish  me  to  walk  the  rest  of  the  way 
home  ?  " 

"  No,"  said  Cass  hurriedly,  with  a  crimson  face  and  a 
sense  of  gratuitous  rudeness. 

"  Then  stop  that  kind  of  talk,  right  there  ! " 

There  was  an  awkward  silence.  "  I  wish  I  was  a  man," 
she  said,  half  bitterly,  half  earnestly.  Cass  Beard  was  not 
old  and  cynical  enough  to  observe  that  this  devout  aspira- 
tion is  usually  uttered  by  those  who  have  least  reason  to 
deplore  their  own  femininity  ;  and,  but  for  the  rebuff  he  had 
just  received,  would  have  made  the  usual  emphatic  dissent 
of  our  sex,  when  the  wish  is  uttered  by  warm  red  lips  and 
tender  voices  —  a  dissent,  it  may  be  remarked,  generally 
withheld,  however,  when  the  masculine  spinster  dwells  on 
the  perfection  of  woman.  I  dare  say  Miss  Porter  was  sin- 
cere, for  a  moment  later  she  continued,  poutingly  :  — 

"  And  yet  I  used  to  go  to  fires  in  Sacramento  when  I 
was  only  ten  years  old.  I  saw  the  theatre  burnt  down. 
Nobody  found  fault  with  me  then." 

Something  made  Cass  ask  if  her  father  and  mother  ob- 
jected to  her  boyish  tastes.  The  reply  was  characteristic  if 
not  satisfactory :  — 

"  Object  ?     I'd  like  to  see  them  do  it !  " 

The  direction  of  the  road  had  changed.  The  fickle 
moon  now  abandoned  Miss  Porter  and  sought  out  Cass 


FOUND   AT   BLAZING   STAR  367 

on  the  front  seat.  It  caressed  the  young  fellow's  silky 
mustache  and  long  eyelashes,  and  took  some  of  the  sun- 
burn from  his  cheek. 

"  What 's  the  matter  with  your  neck  ?  "  said  the  girl 
suddenly. 

Cass  looked  down,  blushing  to  find  that  the  collar  of  his 
smart  "  duck  "  sailor  shirt  was  torn  open.  But  something 
more  than  his  white,  soft,  girlish  skin  was  exposed  ;  the 
shirt  front  was  dyed  quite  red  with  blood  from  a  slight  cut- 
on  the  shoulder.  He  remembered  to  have  felt  a  scratch 
while  struggling  with  Hornsby. 

The  girl's  soft  eyes  sparkled.  "  Let  me,"  she  said  viva- 
ciously. "  Do  !  I  'm  good  at  wounds.  Come  over  here. 
No  —  stay  there.  I  '11  come  over  to  you." 

She  did,  bestriding  the  back  of  the  middle  seat  and 
dropping  at  his  side.  The  magnetic  fingers  again  touched 
his ;  he  felt  her  warm  breath  on  his  neck  as  she  bent 
toward  him. 

"  It 's  nothing,"  he  said  hastily,  more  agitated  by  the 
treatment  than  the  wound. 

"  Give  me  your  flask,"  she  responded,  without  heeding. 
A  stinging  sensation  as  she  bathed  the  edges  of  the  cut 
with  the  spirit  brought  him  back  to  common  sense  again. 
"  There,"  she  said,  skillfully  extemporizing  a  bandage  from 
her  handkerchief  and  a  compress  from  his  cravat.  "  Now, 
button  your  coat  over  your  chest,  so,  and  don't  take  cold." 
She  insisted  upon  buttoning  it  for  him ;  greater  even  than 
the  feminine  delight  in  a  man's  strength  is  the  ministration 
to  his  weakness.  Yet,  when  .this  was  finished,  she  drew  a 
little  away  from  him  in  some  embarrassment  —  an  embar- 
rassment she  wondered  at,  as  his  skin  was  finer,  his  touch 
gentler,  his  clothes  cleaner,  and  —  not  to  put  too  fine  a 
point  upon  it  —  he  exhaled  an  atmosphere  much  sweeter 
than  belonged  to  most  of  the  men  her  boyish  habits  had 
brought  her  in  contact  with  —  not  excepting  her  own 


368  FOUND    AT   BLAZING   STAR 

father.  Later  she  even  exempted  her  mother  from  the 
possession  of  this  divine  effluence.  After  a  moment  she 
asked  suddenly,  "  What  are  you  going  to  do  with  Horns- 
by?" 

Cass  had  not  thought  of  him.  His  short-lived  rage  was 
past  with  the  occasion  that  provoked  it.  Without  any  feat 
of  his  adversary,  he  would  have  been  content  —  quite  will- 
ing —  to  meet  him  no  more.  He  only  said,  "  That  will 
depend  upon  him." 

"  Oh,  you  won't  hear  from  him  again,"  said  she  con- 
fidently ;  "  but  you  really  ought  to  get  up  a  little  more 
muscle.  You  've  no  more  than  a  girl."  She  stopped,  a 
little  confused. 

"  What  shall  I  do  with  your  handkerchief  ?  "  asked  the 
uneasy  Cass,  anxious  to  change  the  subject. 

"  Oh,  keep  it,  if  you  want  to  ;  only  don't  show  it  to 
everybody  as  you  did  that  ring  you  found."  Seeing  signs 
of  distress  in  his  face,  she  added  :  "  Of  course  that  was  all 
nonsense.  If  you  had  cared  so  much  for  the  ring  you 
couldn't  have  talked  about  it  or  shown  it,  could  you  ?  " 

It  relieved  him  to  think  that  this  might  be  true ;  he  cer- 
tainly had  not  looked  at  it  in  that  light  before. 

"  But  did  you  really  find  it  ?  "  she  asked,  with  sudden 
gravity.  "  Really,  now  ?  " 

"Yes." 

"  And  there  was  no  real  May  in  the  case  ?  " 

"Not  that  I  know  of,"  laughed  Cass,  secretly  pleased. 

But  Miss  Porter,  after  eyeing  him  critically  for  a  moment, 
jumped  up  and  climbed  back  again  to  her  seat.  "  Perhaps 
you  had  better  give  me  that  handkerchief  back." 

Cass  began  to  unbutton  his  coat. 

"  No  !  no  !  Do  you  want  to  take  your  death  of  cold  ?  " 
she  screamed.  And  Cass,  to  avoid  this  direful  possibility, 
rebuttoned  his  coat  again  over  the  handkerchief  and  a 
peculiarly  pleasing  sensation. 


FOUND    AT   BLAZTNG    STAR  369 

Very  little  now  was  said  until  the  rattling,  bounding 
descent  of  the  coach  denoted  the  approach  to  Red  Chief. 
The  straggling  main  street  disclosed  itself,  light  by  light. 
In  the  flash  of  glittering  windows  and  the  sound  of  eager 
voices  Miss  Porter  descended,  without  waiting  for  Cass's 
proffered  assistance,  and  anticipated  Mountain  Charley's 
descent  from  the  box.  A  few  undistinguishable  words 
passed  between  them. 

"  You  kin  freeze  to  me,  miss,"  said  Charley ;  and  Miss 
Porter,  turning  her  frank  laugh  and  frankly  opened  palm 
to  Cass,  half  returned  the  pressure  of  his  hand  and  slipped 
away. 

A  few  days  after  the  stage-coach  incident  Mountain 
Charley  drew  up  beside  Cass  on  the  Blazing  Star  turnpike, 
and  handed  him  a  small  packet.  "  I  was  told  to  give  ye 
that  by  Miss  Porter.  Hush  —  listen  !  It 's  that  rather 
old  dog-goned  ring  o'  yours  that 's  bin  in  all  the  papers. 
She 's  bamboozled  that  sap-headed  county  judge,  Boom- 
pointer,  into  givin'  it  to  her.  Take  my  advice  and  sling  it 
away  for  some  other  feller  to  pick  up  and  get  looney  over. 
That 's  all !  " 

"  Did  she  say  anything  ?  "  asked  Cass  anxiously,  as  he 
received  his  lost  treasure  somewhat  coldly. 

"  Well,  yes !  I  reckon.  She  asked  me  to  stand  betwixt 
Hornsby  and  you.  So  don't  you  tackle  him,  and  I  '11  see 
he  don't  tackle  you,"  and  with  a  portentous  wink  Moun- 
tain Charley  whipped  up  his  horses,  and  was  gone. 

Cass  opened  the  packet.  It  contained  nothing  but  the 
ring.  Unmitigated  by  any  word  of  greeting,  remembrance, 
or  even  raillery,  it  seemed  almost  an  insult.  Had  she 
intended  to  flaunt  his  folly  in  his  face,  or  had  she  believed 
he  still  mourned  for  it  and  deemed  its  recovery  a  sufficient 
reward  for  his  slight  service  ?  For  an  instant  he  felt 
tempted  to  follow  Charley's  advice,  and  cast  this  symbol 
of  folly  and  contempt  in  the  dust  of  the  mountain  road. 


370  FOUND   AT   BLAZING   STAR 

And  had  she  not  made  his  humiliation  complete  by  begging 
Charley's  interference  between  him  and  his  enemy  ?  He 
would  go  home  and  send  her  back  the  handkerchief  'she 
had  given  him.  But  here  the  unromantic  reflection  that 
although  he  had  washed  it  that  very  afternoon  in  the  soli- 
tude of  his  own  cabin,  he  could  not  possibly  iron  it,  but 
must  send  it  "  rough  dried,"  stayed  his  indignant  feet. 

Two  or  three  days,  a  week,  a  fortnight  even,  of  this 
hopeless  resentment  filled  Cass's  breast.  Then  the  news 
of  Kanaka  Joe's  acquittal  in  the  state  court  momentarily 
revived  the  story  of  the  ring,  and  revamped  a  few  stale 
jokes  in  the  camp.  But  the  interest  soon  flagged  ;  the 
fortunes  of  the  little  community  of  Blazing  Star  had  been 
for  some  months  failing ;  and  with  early  snows  in  the 
mountain  and  wasted  capital  in  fruitless  schemes  on  the 
river,  there  was  little  room  for  the  indulgence  of  that  lazy 
and  original  humor  which  belonged  to  their  lost  youth 
and  prosperity.  Blazing  Star  truly,  in  the  grim  figure  of 
their  slang,  was  "  played  out."  Not  dug  out,  worked  out, 
or  washed  out,  but  dissipated  in  a  year  of  speculation  and 
chance. 

Against  this  tide  of  fortune  Cass  struggled  manfully,  and 
even  evoked  the  slow  praise  of  his  companions.  Better 
still,  he  won  a  certain  praise  for  himself,  in  himself,  in  a 
consciousness  of  increased  strength,  health,  power,  and 
self-reliance.  He  began  to  turn  his  quick  imagination 
and  perception  to  some  practical  account,  and  made  one  or 
two  discoveries  which  quite  startled  his  more  experienced 
but  more  conservative  companions.  Nevertheless,  Cass's 
discoveries  and  labors  were  not  of  a  kind  that  produced 
immediate  pecuniary  realization,  and  Blazing  Star,  which 
consumed  so  many  pounds  of  pork  and  flour  daily,  did 
not  unfortunately  produce  the  daily  equivalent  in  gold. 
Blazing  Star  lost  its  credit.  Blazing  Star  was  hungry, 
dirty,  and  ragged.  Blazing  Star  was  beginning  to  set. 


FOUND   AT   BLAZING   STAR  371 

Participating  in  the  general  ill  luck  of  the  camp,  Cass 
was  not  without  his  own  individual  mischance.  He  had 
resolutely  determined  to  forget  Miss  Porter  and  all  that 
tended  to  recall  the  unlucky  ring,  but,  cruelly  enough,  she 
was  the  only  thing  that  refused  to  be  forgotten  —  whose 
undulating  figure  reclined  opposite  to  him  in  the  weird 
moonlight  of  his  ruined  cabin,  whose  voice  mingled  with 
the  song  of  the  river  by  whose  banks  he  toiled,  and  whose 
eyes  and  touch  thrilled  him  in  his  dreams.  Partly  for  this 
reason,  and  partly  because  his  clothes  were  beginning  to 
be  patched  and  torn,  he  avoided  Red  Chief  and  any  place 
where  he  would  be  likely  to  meet  her.  In  spite  of  thisx 
precaution  he  had  once  seen  her  driving  in  a  pony  car- 
riage, but  so  smartly  and  fashionably  dressed  that  he  drew 
back  in  the  cover  of  a  wayside  willow  that  she  might  pass 
without  recognition.  He  looked  down  upon  his  red- 
splashed  clothes  and  grimy,  soil-streaked  hands,  and  for 
a  moment  half  hated  her.  His  comrades  seldom  spoke 
of  her  —  instinctively  fearing  some  temptation  that  might 
beset  his  Spartan  resolutions,  but  he  heard  from  time  to 
time  that  she  had  been  seen  at  balls  and  parties,  appar- 
ently enjoying  those  very  frivolities  of  her  sex  she  affected 
to  condemn.  It  was  a  Sabbath  morning  in  early  spring 
that  he  was  returning  from  an  ineffectual  attempt  to  enlist 
a  capitalist  at  the  county  town  to  redeem  the  fortunes  of 
Blazing  Star.  He  was  pondering  over  the  narrowness  of 
that  capitalist,  who  had  evidently  but  illogically  connected 
Cass's  present  appearance  with  the  future  of  that  struggling 
camp,  when  he  became  so  footsore  that  he  was  obliged  to 
accept  a  "  lift "  from  a  wayfaring  teamster.  As  the  slowly 
lumbering  vehicle  passed  the  new  church  on  the  outskirts 
of  the  town,  the  congregation  were  sallying  forth.  It  was 
too  late  to  jump  down  and  run  away,  and  Cass  dared  not 
ask  his  new-found  friend  to  whip  up  his  cattle.  Conscious 
ef  his  unshorn  beard  and  ragged  garments,  he  kept  his  eyes 


372  FOUND   AT   BLAZING   STAR 

fixed  upon  the  road.  A  voice  that  thrilled  him  called  his 
name.  It  was  Miss  Porter,  a  resplendent  vision  of  silk, 
laces,  and  Easter  flowers  —  yet  actually  running,  with 
something  of  her  old  dash  and  freedom,  beside  the  wagon. 
As  the  astonished  teamster  drew  up  before  this  elegant 
apparition,  she  panted  :  — 

"  Why  did  you  make  me  run  so  far,  and  why  did  n't  you 
took  up  ?  " 

Cass,  trying  to  hide  the  patches  on  his  knees  beneath 
a  newspaper,  stammered  that  he  had  not  seen  her. 

"  And  you  did  not  hold  down  your  head  purposely  ?  " 

"  No,"  said  Cass. 

"  Why  have  you  not  been  to  Ked  Chief  ?  Why  did  n't 
you  answer  my  message  about  the  ring  ? "  she  asked 
swiftly. 

"  You  sent  nothing  but  the  ring,"  said  Cass,  coloring, 
as  he  glanced  at  the  teamster. 

"  Why,  that  was  a  message,  you  born  idiot." 

Cass  stared.  The  teamster  smiled.  Miss  Porter  gazed 
anxiously  at  the  wagon.  "  I  think  I  'd  like  a  ride  in 
there ;  it  looks  awfully  good."  She  glanced  mischiev- 
ously around  at  the  lingering  and  curious  congregation, 
"  May  I  ?  " 

But  Cass  deprecated  that  proceeding  strongly.  It  was 
dirty  ;  he  was  not  sure  it  was  even  wholesome  ;  she  would 
be  so  uncomfortable ;  he  himself  was  only  going  a  few 
rods  farther,  and  in  that  time  she  might  ruin  her  dress  — 

"  Oh,  yes,"  she  said  a  little  bitterly,  "  certainly,  my 
dress  must  be  looked  after.  And  —  what  else  ?  " 

"  People  might  think  it  strange,  and  believe  I  had  in- 
vited you,"  continued  Cass  hesitatingly. 

"  When  I  had  only  invited  myself  ?  Thank  you. 
Good-by." 

.  She  waved  her  hand  and  stepped  back  from   the  wagon. 
Cass  would   have  given   worlds  to   recall  her,  but  he   sat 


FOUND   AT   BLAZING   STAR  373 

still,  and  tlie  vehicle  moved  on  in  moody  silence.  At  the 
first  cross-road  he  jumped  down.  "  Thank  you,"  he  said 
to  the  teamster.  "  You  're  welcome,"  returned  that  gentle- 
man, regarding  him  curiously ;  "  but  the  next  time  a  gal 
like  that  asks  to  ride  in  this  yer  wagon,  I  reckon  I  won't 
take  the  vote  of  any  deadhead  passenger.  Adios,  young 
fellow.  Don't  stay  out  late ;  ye  might  be  run  off  by  some 
gal,  and  what  would  your  mother  say  ?  "  Of  course  the 
young  man  could  only  look  unutterable  things  and  walk 
away,  but  even  in  that  dignified  action  he  was  conscious 
that  its  effect  was  somewhat  mitigated  by  a  large  patch 
from  a  material  originally  used  as  a  flour-sack,  which  had 
repaired  his  trousers,  but  still  bore  the  ironical  legend^ 
'•  Best  Superfine." 

Ths  summer  brought  warmth  and  promise  and  sor^e 
blossom,  if  not  absolute  fruition  to  Blazing  Star.  The 
long  days  drew  Nature  into  closer  communion  with  the 
men,  and  hopefulness  followed  the  discontent  of  their 
winter  seclusion.  It  was  easier,  too,  for  Capital  to  be 
wooed  and  won  into  making  a  picnic  in  these  mountain 
solitudes  than  when  high  water  stayed  the  fords,  and  drift- 
ing snow  the  Sierran  trails.  At  the  close  of  one  of  these 
Arcadian  days  Cass  was  smoking  before  the  door  of  his 
lonely  cabin  when  he  was  astounded  by  the  onset  of  a 
dozen  of  his  companions.  Peter  Drummond,  far  in  the 
van,  was  waving  a  newspaper  like  a  victorious  banner. 
"  All 's  right  now,  Cass,  old  man  !  "  he  panted  as  he 
stopped  before  Cass  and  shoved  back  his  eager  followers. 

"  What 's  all  right  ?  "  asked  Cass  dubiously. 

"  You !  You  kin  rake  down  the  pile  now.  You  're 
hunky  !  You  're  on  velvet.  Listen  !  " 

He  opened  the  newspaper  and  read  with  annoying  deliber- 
ation, as  follows :  — 

"  LOST.  —  If  the  finder  of  a  plain  gold  ring,  bearing 
the  engraved  inscription,  *  May  to  Cass,'  alleged  to  have 


374  FOUND   AT   BLAZING    STAR 

been  picked  up  on  the  highroad  near  Blazing  Star  on 
the  4th  March,  186-,  will  apply  to  Bookham  &  Sons, 
bankers,  1007  Y  Street,  Sacramento,  he  will  be  suitably 
rewarded  either  for  the  recovery  of  the  ring,  or  for  such 
facts  as  may  identify  it,  or  the  locality  where  it  was 
found." 

Cass  rose  and  frowned  savagely  on  his  comrades.  "No ! 
no  !  "  cried  a  dozen  voices  assuringly.  "It  's  all  right ! 
Honest  Injun  !  True  as  gospel !  No  joke,  Cass  !  " 

"  Here  's  the  paper,  Sacramento  '  Union  '  of  yesterday. 
Look  for  yourself,"  said  Drummond,  handing  him  the 
well-worn  journal.  "  And  you  see,"  he  added,  "  how 
darned  lucky  you  are.  It  ain't  necessary  for  you  to  pro- 
duce the  ring,  so  if  that  old  biled  owl  of  a  Boompointer 
don't  giv'  it  back  to  ye,  it 's  all  the  same." 

"  And  they  say  nobody  but  the  finder  need  apply,"  in- 
terrupted another.  "  That  shuts  out  Boompointer  or 
Kanaka  Joe  for  the  matter  o'  that." 

"  It 's  clar  that  it  means  you,  Cass,  ez  much  ez  if  they  'd 
given  your  name,"  added  a  third. 

For  Miss  Porter's  sake  and  his  own  Cass  had  never 
told  them  of  the  restoration  of  the  ring,  and  it  was  evi- 
dent that  Mountain  Charley  had  also  kept  silent.  Cass 
could  not  speak  .now  without  violating  a  secret,  and  he 
was  pleased  that  the  ring  itself  no  longer  played  an 
important  part  in  the  mystery.  But  what  was  that  mys- 
tery, and  why  was  the  ring  secondary  to  himself  ?  Why 
was  so  much  stress  laid  upon  his  finding  it  ? 

"  You  see,"  said  Drummond,  as  if  answering  his  un- 
spoken thought,  "  that  ar  gal  — for  it  is  a  gal  in  course  — 
hez  read  all  about  it  in  the  papers,  and  hez  sort  o'  took  a 
shine  to  ye.  It  don't  make  a  bit  o'  difference  who  in 
thunder  Cass  is  or  was,  for  I  reckon  she  's  kicked  him 
over  by  this  time  "  — 

"  Sarved  him   right,  too,  for  losing  the  girl's  ring  and 


FOUND   AT   BLAZING   STAR  375 

then  lying  low  and  keeping  dark  about  it,"  interrupted  a 
sympathizer. 

"And  she's  just  weakened  over  the  romantic,  high- 
toned  way  you  stuck  to  it,"  continued  Drummond,  for- 
getting the  sarcasms  he  had  previously  hurled  at  this 
romance.  Indeed  the  whole  camp,  by  this  time,  had  be- 
come convinced  that  it  had  fostered  and  developed  a 
chivalrous  devotion  which  was  now  on  the  point  of  pe- 
cuniary realization.  It  was  generally  accepted  that  "  she  " 
was  the  daughter  of  this  banker,  and  also  felt  that  in  the 
circumstances  the  happy  father  could  not  do  less  than 
develop  the  resources  of  Blazing  Star  at  once.  Even 
if  there  were  no  relationship,  what  opportunity  could  be 
more  fit  for  presenting  to  capital  a  locality  that  even 
produced  engagement  rings,  and,  as  Jim  Fauquier  put  it, 
"the  men  ez  knew  how  to  keep  'em."  It  was  this  sym- 
pathetic Virginian  who  took  Cass  aside  with  the  following 
generous  suggestion  :  "  If  you  find  that  you  and  the  old 
gal  couldn't  hitch  bosses,  owin'  to  your  not  likin'  red 
hair  or  a  game  leg "  (it  may  be  here  recorded  that  Blaz- 
ing Star  had,  for  no  reason  whatever,  attributed  these 
unprepossessing  qualities  to  the  mysterious  advertiser), 
"  you  might  let  me  in.  You  might  say  ez  how  I  used  to 
jest  worship  that  ring  with  you,  and  allers  wanted  to 
borrow  it  on  Sundays.  If  anything  comes  of  it  —  why  — 
we  're  pardners  !  " 

A  serious  question  was  the  outfitting  of  Cass  for  what 
now  was  felt  to  be  a  diplomatic  representation  of  the 
community.  His  garments,  it  hardly  need  be  said,  were 
inappropriate  to  any  wooing  except  that  of  the  "  maiden  all 
forlorn,"  which  the  advertiser  clearly  was  not.  "  He  might," 
suggested  Fauquier,  "  drop  in  jest  as  he  is  —  kinder  as  if 
he  'd  got  keerless  of  the  world,  being  lovesick."  But  Cass 
objected  strongly,  and  was  borne  out  in  his  objection  by 
his  younger  comrades.  At  last  a  pair  of  white  duck  trousers. 


376  FOUND    AT   BLAZING   STAR 

a  red  shirt,  a  flowing  black  silk  scarf,  and  a  Panama  hat  were 
procured  at  Red  Chief,  on  credit,  after  a  j  udicious  exhibition 
of  the  advertisement.  A  heavy  wedding-ring^  the  property 
of  Drummond  (who  was  not  married),  was  also  lent  as  a 
graceful  suggestion,  and  at  the  last  moment  Fauquier  affixed 
to  Cass's  scarf  an  enormous  specimen  pin  of  gold  and  quartz. 
"  It  sorter  indicates  the  auriferous  wealth  o'  this  yer  region, 
and  the  old  man  (the  senior  member  of  Bookham  &  Sons) 
need  n't  know  I  won  it  at  draw-poker  in  Frisco,"  said 
Fauquier.  "  Ef  you  *  pass '  on  the  gal,  you  kin  hand  it 
back  to  me  and  J'll  try  it  on." 

Forty  dollars  for  expenses  was  put  into  Cass's  hands, 
and  the  entire  community  accompanied  him  to  the  cross- 
roads where  he  was  to  meet  the  Sacramento  coach,  which 
eventually  carried  him  away,  followed  by  a  benediction  of 
waving  hats  and  exploding  revolvers. 

That  Cass  did  not  participate  in  the  extravagant  hopes 
of  his  comrades,  and  that  he  rejected  utterly  their  matri- 
monial speculations  in  his  behalf,  need  not  be  said.  Out- 
wardly, he  kept  his  own  counsel  with  good-humored  assent. 
But  there  was  something  fascinating  in  the  situation,  and 
while  he  felt  he  had  forever  abandoned  his  romantic  dream, 
he  was  not  displeased  to  know  that  it  might  have  proved  a 
reality.  Nor  was  it  distasteful  to  him  to  think  that  Miss 
Porter  would  hear  of  it  and  regret  her  late  inability  to 
appreciate  his  sentiment.  If  he  really  were  the  object  of 
some  opulent  maiden's  passion,  he  would  show  Miss  Por- 
ter how  he  could  sacrifice  the  most  brilliant  prospects  for 
her  sake.  Alone,  on  the  top  of  the  coach,  he  projected 
one  of  those  satisfying  conversations  in  which  imaginative 
people  delight,  but  which  unfortunately  never  come  quite 
up  to  rehearsal.  "  Dear  Miss  Porter,"  he  would  say,  ad- 
dressing the  back  of  the  driver,  "  if  I  could  remain  faithful 
to  a  dream  of  my  youth,  however  illusive  and  unreal,  can 
you  believe  that  for  the  sake  of  lucre  I  could  be  false  to  the 


FOUND   AT   BLAZING   STAR  377 

one  real  passion  that  alone  supplanted  it  ?  "  In  the  com- 
position and  delivery  of  this  eloquent  statement  an  hour  was 
happily  forgotten  :  the  only  drawback  to  its  complete  effect 
was  that  a  misplacing  of  epithets  in  rapid  repetition  did  not 
seem  to  make  the  slightest  difference,  and  Cass  found  him- 
self saying,  "  Dear  Miss  Porter,  if  I  could  be  false  to  a 
dream  of  my  youth,  etc.,  etc.,  can  you  believe  I  could  be 
faithful  to  the  one  real  passion,"  etc.,  etc.,  with  equal  and 
perfect  satisfaction.  As  Miss  Porter  was  reputed  to  be  well 
off,  if  the  unknown  were  poor,  that  might  be  another  draw- 
back. 

The  banking  house  of  Bookham  &  Sons  did  not  present 
an  illusive  nor  mysterious  appearance.  It  was  eminently 
practical  and  matter  of  fact ;  it  was  obtrusively  open  and 
glassy ;  nobody  would  have  thought  of  leaving  a  secret 
there,  that  would  have  been  inevitably  circulated  over  the 
counter.  Cass  felt  an  uncomfortable  sense  of  incongruity 
in  himself,  in  his  story,  in  his  treasure,  to  this  temple  of 
disenchanting  realism.  With  the  awkwardness  of  an  em- 
barrassed man  he  was  holding  prominently  in  his  hand  an 
wnvelope  containing  the  ring  and  advertisement  as  a  voucher 
for  his  intrusion,  when  the  nearest  clerk  took  the  envelope 
from  his  hand,  opened  it,  took  out  the  ring,  returned  it, 
said  briskly,  "  T'  other  shop,  next  door,  young  man,"  and 
turned  to  another  customer. 

Cass  stepped  to  the  door,  saw  that  "  t'  other  shop " 
was  a  pawnbroker's,  and  returned  again  with  a  flashing 
eye  and  heightened  color.  "  It 's  an  advertisement  I  have 
come  to  answer,"  he  began  again. 

The  clerk  cast  a  glance  at  Cass's  scarf  and  pin.  "  Place 
taken  yesterday  —  no  room  for  any  more,"  he  said  ab- 
ruptly. 

Cass  grew  quite  white.  But  his  old  experience  in 
BJazing  Star  repartee  stood  him  in  good  stead.  "  If  it  ?s 
your  place  you  mean,"  he  said  coolly,  "  I  reckon  you 


378  FOUND   AT  BLAZING   STAR 

might  put  a  dozen  men  in  the  hole  you're  rattlin'  round 
in  —  but  it 's  this  advertisement  I  'm  after.  If  Bookham 
is  n't  in,  maybe  you  '11  send  me  one  of  the  grown-up  sons." 
The  production  of  the  advertisement  and  some  laughter 
from  the  bystanders  had  its  effect.  The  pert  young  clerk 
retired,  and  returned  to  lead  the  way  to  the  bank  parlor. 
Cass's  heart  sank  again  as  he  was  confronted  by  a  dark, 
iron-gray  man  —  in  dress,  features,  speech,  and  action  un- 
compromisingly opposed  to  Cass,  his  ring  and  his  romance. 
When  the  young  man  had  told  his  story  and  produced  his 
treasure  he  paused.  The  banker  scarcely  glanced  at  it,  but 
said  impatiently  :  — 

"  Well,  your  papers  ?  " 

"  My  papers  ?  " 

"  Yes.  Proof  of  your  identity.  You  say  your  name  is 
Cass  Beard.  Good  !  What  have  you  got  to  prove  it  ? 
How  can  I  tell  who  you  are  ?  " 

To  a  sensitive  man  there  is  no  form  of  suspicion  that 
is  as  bewildering  and  demoralizing  at  the  moment  as  the 
question  of  his  identity.  Cass  felt  the  insult  in  the  doubt 
of  his  word,  and  the  palpable  sense  of  his  present  inabil- 
ity to  prove  it.  The  banker  watched  him  keenly  but  not 
unkindly. 

"  Come,"  he  said  at  length,  "  this  is  not  my  affair ;  if 
you  can  legally  satisfy  the  lady  for  whom  I  am  only  agent, 
well  and  good.  I  believe  you  can  ;  I  only  warn  you  that 
you  must.  And  my  present  inquiry  was  to  keep  her  from 
losing  her  time  with  impostors,  a  class  I  don't  think  you 
belong  to.  There  's  her  card.  Good-day." 

"Miss  MORTIMER." 

It  was  not  the  banker's  daughter.  The  first  illusion 
of  Blazing  Star  was  rudely  dispelled.  But  the  care  taken 
by  the  capitalist  to  shield  her  from  imposture  indicated 
a  person  of  wealth.  Of  her  youth  and  beauty  Cass  no 
longer  thought. 


FOUND   AT  BLAZING   STAR  379 

The  address  given  was  not  distant.  With  a  beating 
heart  he  rung  the  bell  of  a  respectable-looking  house,  and 
was  ushered  into  a  private  drawing-room.  Instinctively 
he  felt  that  the  room  was  only  temporarily  inhabited,  an 
air  peculiar  to  the  best  lodgings ;  and  when  the  door 
opened  upon  a  tall  lady  in  deep  mourning,  he  was  still 
more  convinced  of  an  incongruity  between  the  occupant 
and  her  surroundings.  With  a  smile  that  vacillated  be- 
tween a  habit  of  familiarity  and  ease  and  a  recent  restraint, 
she  motioned  him  to  a  chair. 

"  Miss  Mortimer  "  was  still  young,  still  handsome,  still 
fashionably  dressed,  and  still  attractive.  From  her  first 
greeting  to  the  end  of  the  interview  Cass  felt  that  she  knew 
all  about  him.  This  relieved  him  from  the  onus  of  proving 
his  identity,  but  seemed  to  put  him  vaguely  at  a  disadvantage. 
It  increased  his  sense  of  inexperience  and  youthfulness. 

"  I  hope  you  will  believe,''  she  began,  "  that  the  few 
questions  I  have  to  ask  you  are  to  satisfy  my  own  heart, 
and  for  no  other  purpose."  She  smiled  sadly  as  she 
went  on.  "  Had  it  been  otherwise,  I  should  have  insti- 
tuted a  legal  inquiry,  and  left  this  interview  to  some  one 
cooler,  calmer,  and  less  interested  than  myself.  But  I 
think,  I  know  I  can  trust  you.  Perhaps  we  women  are 
weak  and  foolish  to  talk  of  an  instinct,  and  when  you 
know  my  story  you  may  have  reason  to  believe  that  but 
little  dependence  can  be  placed  on  that ;  but  I  am  not 
wrong  in  saying  —  am  I  ?  "  (with  a  sad  smile)  "  that  you 
are  not  above  that  weakness  ?  "  She  paused,  closed  her 
lips  tightly,  and  clasped  her  hands  before  her.  "  You 
say  you  found  that  ring  in  the  road  some  three  months 
before  —  the  —  the  —  you  know  what  I  mean  —  the  body 
—  was  discovered  ?  " 

"  Yes." 

''  You  thought  it  might  have  been  dropped  by  some  one 
in  passing  ?  " 


880  FOUND   AT   BLAZING   STAR 

"  I  thought  so,  yes  —  it  belonged  to  no  one  in  the 
camp." 

"  Before  your  cabin,  or  on  the  highway  ?  " 

"  Before  my  cabin." 

"  You  are  sure  ?  "  There  was  something  so  very  sweet 
and  sad  in  her  smile  that  it  oddly  made  Cass  color. 

"  But  my  cabin  is  near  the  road,"  he  suggested. 

"I  see!  And  there  was  nothing  else,  no  paper,  noi 
envelope  ?  " 

"  Nothing." 

"  And  you  kept  it  because  of  the  odd  resemblance  one 
of  the  names  bore  to  yours  ?  " 

"  Yes." 

"  For  no  other  reason  ?  " 

"  None."     Yet  Cass  felt  he  was  blushing. 

"  You  '11  forgive  my  repeating  a  question  you  have  al- 
ready answered,  but  I  am  so  anxious.  There  was  some 
attempt  to  prove  at  the  inquest  that  the  ring  had  been 
found  on  the  body  of  —  the  unfortunate  man.  But  you 
tell  me  it  was  not  so  ?  " 

"  I  can  swear  it." 

"  Good  God  —  the  traitor  !  "  She  took  a  hurried  step 
forward,  turned  to  the  window,  and  then  came  back  to 
Cass  with  a  voice  broken  with  emotion.  "  I  have  told  you 
I  could  trust  you.  That  ring  was  mine  !  " 

She  stopped,  and  then  went  on  hurriedly.  "  Years  ago 
I  gave  it  to  a  man  who  deceived  and  wronged  me ;  a  man 
whose  life  since  then  has  been  a  shame  and  disgrace  to  all 
who  knew  him ;  a  man  who,  once  a  gentleman,  sank  so 
low  as  to  become  the  associate  of  thieves  and  ruffians ;  sank 
so  low,  that  when  he  died,  by  violence,  — a  traitor  even  to 
them,  —  his  own  confederates  shrank  from  him,  and  left 
him  to  fill  a  nameless  grave.  That  man 's  body  you 
found ! " 

Cass  .started.      "  And  his  name  was  "  — 


FOUND   AT   BLAZING   STAR  381 

"Part  of  your  surname.     Cass  —  Henry  Cass." 

"  You  see  why  Providence  seems  to  have  brought  that 
ring  to  you,"  she  went  on.  "But  you  ask  me  why,  know- 
ing this,  I  am  so  eager  to  know  if  the  ring  was  found  by 
you  in  the  road,  or  if  it  were  found  on  his  body.  Listen  ! 
It  is  part  of  my  mortification  that  the  story  goes  that  this 
man  once  showed  this  ring,  boasted  of  it,  staked,  and  lost 
it  at  a  gambling-table  to  one  of  his  vile  comrades." 

"  Kanaka  Joe,"  said  Cass,  overcome  by  a  vivid  recollec- 
tion of  Joe's  merriment  at  the  trial. 

"  The  same.  Don't  you  see,"  she  said  hurriedly,  "  if 
the  ring  had  been  found  on  him  I  could  believe  that  some- 
where in  his  heart  he  still  kept  respect  for  the  woman  he 
had  wronged.  I  am  a  woman  —  a"  foolish  woman,  I  know 
—  but  you  have  crushed  that  hope  forever." 

"  But  why  have  you  sent  for  me  ?  "  asked  Cass,  touched 
by  her  emotion. 

"  To  know  it  for  certain,"  she  said  almost  fiercely. 
"  Can  you  not  understand  that  a  woman  like  me  must 
know  a  thing  once  and  forever  ?  But  you  can  help  me. 
I  did  not  send  for  you  only  to  pour  my  wrongs  in  your 
ears.  You  must  take  me  with  you  to  this  place  —  to  the 
spot  where  you  found  the  ring  —  to  the  spot  where  you 
found  the  body  —  to  the  spot  where  —  where  he  lies. 
You  must  do  it  secretly,  that  none  shall  know  me." 

Cass  hesitated.  He  was  thinking  of  his  companions 
and  the  collapse  of  their  painted  bubble.  How  could  he 
keep  the  secret  from  them  ? 

"  If  it  is  money  you  need,  let  not  that  stop  you.  I  have 
no  right  to  'your  time  without  recompense.  Do  not  mis- 
understand me.  There  has  been  a  thousand  dollars  await- 
ing my  order  at  Bookham's  when  the  ring  should  be  de- 
livered. It  shall  be  doubled  if  you  help  me  in  this  last 
moment." 

It  was  possible.      He  could  convey  her  safely  there,  in 


382  FOUND   AT   BLAZING   STAR 

vent  some  story  of  a  reward  delayed  for  want  of  proofs, 
and  afterward  share  that  reward  with  his  friends.  He 
answered  promptly,  "  I  will  take  you  there." 

She  took  his  hands  in  both  of  hers,  raised  them  to  her 
lips,  and  smiled.  The  shadow  of  grief  and  restraint 
seemed  to  have  fallen  from  her  face,  and  a  half-mischiev- 
ous, half-coquettish  gleam  in  her  dark  eyes  touched  the 
susceptible  Cass  in  so  subtle  a  fashion  that  he  regained  the 
street  in  some  confusion.  He  wondered  what  Miss  Porter 
would  have  thought.  But  was  he  not  returning  to  her,  a 
fortunate  man,  with  one  thousand  dollars  in  his  pocket ! 
Why  should  he  remember  he  was  handicapped  by  a  pretty 
woman  and  a  pathetic  episode  ?  It  did  not  make  the  proxim- 
ity less  pleasant  as  he  helped  her  into  the  coach  that  evening, 
nor  did  the  recollection  of  another  ride  with  another  woman 
obtrude  itself  upon  those  consolations  which  he  felt  it  his 
duty  from  time  to  time  to  offer.  It  was  arranged  that  he 
should  leave  her  at  the  Red  Chief  hotel,  while  he  con- 
tinued on  to  Blazing  Star,  returning  at  noon  to  bring  her 
with  him  when  he  could  do  it  without  exposing  her  to 
recognition.  The  gray  dawn  came  soon  enough,  and  the 
coach  drew  up  at  Red  Chief  while  the  lights  in  the  bar- 
room and  dining-room  of  the  hotel  were  still  struggling 
with  the  far  flushing  east.  Cass  alighted,  placed  Miss 
Mortimer  in  the  hands  of  the  landlady,  and  returned  to  the 
vehicle.  It  was  still  musty,  close,  and  frouzy,  with  half- 
awakened  passengers.  There  was  a  vacated  seat  on  the 
top,  which  Cass  climbed  up  to,  and  abstractedly  threw  him- 
self beside  a  figure  muffled  in  shawls  and  rugs.  There  was 
a  slight  movement  among  the  multitudinous  enwrappings, 
and  then  the  figure  turned  to  him  and  said  dryly,  "  Good 
morning  !  "  It  was  Miss  Porter  ! 

"  Have  you  been  long  here  ?  "  he  stammered. 

"All  night." 

He   would  have   given  worlds  to  leave  her  at  that  mo- 


FOUND   AT   BLAZING   STAR  383 

merit.  He  would  have  jumped  from  the  starting  coach  to 
save  himself  any  explanation  of  the  embarrassment  he  was 
furiously  conscious  of  showing,  without,  as  he  believed, 
any  adequate  cause.  And  yet,  like  all  inexperienced,  sensi- 
tive men,  he  dashed  blindly  into  that  explanation  ;  worse, 
he  even  told  his  secret  at  once,  then  and  there,  and  then 
sat  abashed  and  conscience-stricken,  with  an  added  sense  of 
its  utter  futility. 

"  And  this,"  summed  up  the  young  girl,  with  a  slight 
shrug  of  her  pretty  shoulders,  "  is  your  May  ?  " 

Cass  would  have  recommenced  his  story. 

"  No,  don't,  pray  !  It  is  n't  interesting,  nor  original. 
Do  you  believe  it  ?  " 

"  I  do,"  said  Cass  indignantly. 

"  How  luck}r !     Then  let  me  go  to  sleep." 

Cass,  still  furious,  but  uneasy,  did  not  again  address  her. 
When  the  coach  stopped  at  Blazing  Star  she  asked  him 
indifferently  :  "  When  does  this  sentimental  pilgrimage 
begin  ?  " 

"  I  return  for  her  at  one  o'clock,"  replied  Cass  stiffly. 

He  kept  his  word.  He  appeased  his  eager  companions 
with  a  promise  of  future  fortune,  and  exhibited  the  present 
and  tangible  reward.  By  a  circuitous  route  known  only 
to  himself,  he  led  Miss  Mortimer  to  the  road  before  the 
cabin.  There  was  a  pink  flush  of  excitement  on  her  some- 
what faded  cheek. 

"  And  it  was  here  ?  "  she  asked  eagerly. 

"  I  found  it  here." 

"  And  the  body  ?  " 

"That  was  afterward.  Over  in  that  direction,  beyond 
the  clump  of  buckeyes,  on  the  Red  Chief  turnpike." 

"  And  any  one  coming  from  the  road  we  left  just  now 
and  going  to  —  to  —  that  place  would  have  to  cross  just 
here  ?  Tell  me,"  she  said,  with  a  strange  laugh,  laying 
her  cold  nervous  hand  on  his,  "  would  n't  they  ?  " 


384  FOUND   AT   BLAZING   STAR 

"They  would." 

"  Let  us  go  to  that  place." 

Cass  stepped  out  briskly  to  avoid  observation  and  gain 
the  woods  beyond  the  highway.  "  You  have  crossed  here 
before,"  she  said.  "  There  seems  to  be  a  trail." 

"  I  may  have  made  it :  it 's  a  short  cut  to  the  buck- 
ayes." 

"  You  never  found  anything  else  on  the  trail  ?  " 

"  You  remember,  I  told  you  before,  the  ring  was  all  I 
found." 

"  Ah,  true  !  "  she  smiled  sweetly  ;  "  it  was  that  which 
made  it  seem  so  odd  to  you.  I  forgot." 

In  half  an  hour  they  reached  the  buckeyes.  During 
the  walk  she  had  taken  rapid  recognizance  of  everything 
in  her  path.  When  they  crossed  the  road  and  Cass  had 
pointed  out  the  scene  of  the  murder,  she  looked  anxiously 
around.  "  You  are  sure  we  are  not  seen  ?  " 

"  Quite." 

"  You  will  not  think  me  foolish  if  I  ask  you  to  wait 
here  while  I  go  in  there "  —  she  pointed  to  the  ominous 
thicket  near  them  —  "  alone  ?  "  She  was  quite  white. 

Cass's  heart,  which  had  grown  somewhat  cold  since  his 
interview  with  Miss  Porter,  melted  at  once. 

"  Go  ;  I  will  stay  here." 

He  waited  five  minutes.  She  did  not  return.  What  if 
the  poor  creature  had  determined  upon  suicide  on  the  spot 
where  her  faithless  lover  had  fallen  ?  He  was  reassured 
in  another  moment  by  the  rustle  of  skirts  in  the  under- 
growth. 

"  I  was  becoming  quite  alarmed,"  he  said  aloud. 

"  You  have  reason  to  be,"  returned  a  hurried  voice. 
He  started.  It  was  Miss  Porter,  who  stepped  swiftly 
out  of  the  cover.  "  Look,"  she  said,  "  look  at  that  man 
down  the  road.  He  has  been  tracking  you  two  ever  since 
you  left  the  cabin.  Do  you  know  who  he  is  ?  " 


FOUND   AT   BLAZING   STAR  385 

"  No  !  " 

"  Then  listen.  It  is  three-fingered  Dick,  one  of  the 
escaped  road  agents.  I  know  him  !  " 

"  Let  us  go  and  warn  her,"   said  Cass  eagerly. 

Miss  Porter  laid  her  hand  upon  his  shoulder. 

"  I  don't  think  she  '11  thank  you,"  she  said  dryly. 
"  Perhaps  you  'd  better  see  what  she  's  doing,  first." 

Utterly  bewildered,  yet  with  a  strong  sense  of  the  mas- 
terfulness of  his  companion,  he  follewed  her.  She  crept 
like  a  cat  through  the  thicket.  Suddenly  she  paused. 
"  Look !  "  she  whispered  viciously  ;  "  look  at  the  tender 
vigils  of  your  heart-broken  May  !  " 

Cass  saw  the  woman,  who  had  left  him  a  moment  be- 
fore, on  her  knees  on  the  grass,  with  long  thin  fingers 
digging  like  a  ghoul  in  the  earth.  He  had  scarce  time 
to  notice  her  eager  face  and  eyes,  cast  now  and  then  back 
toward  the  spot  where  she  had  left  him,  before  there  was 
a  crash  in  the  bushes,  and  a  man  —  the  stranger  of  the 
road — leaped  to  her  side.  "Run,"  he  said;  "run  for 
it  now.  You  're  watched  !  " 

"  Oh  !  that  man  —  Beard  !  "  she  said  contemptuously. 

"No,  another  in  a  wagon.  Quick.  Fool,  you  know 
the  place  now,  —  you  can  come  later  ;  run  !  "  And  half 
dragging,  half  lifting  her,  he  bore  her  through  the  bushes. 
Scarcely  had  they  closed  behind  the  pair  when  Miss  Porter 
ran  to  the  spot  vacated  by  the  woman.  "  Look ! "  she 
cried  triumphantly  ;  "  look  !  " 

Cass  looked,  and  sank  on  his  knees  beside  her. 

"  It  was  worth  a  thousand  dollars,  was  n't  it  ?  "  she 
repeated  maliciously,  "  was  n't  it  ?  But  you  ought  to 
return  it !  Really  you  ought." 

Cass  could  scarcely  articulate.  "  But  how  did  you  know 
it  ?  "  he  finally  gasped. 

"  Oh,  I  suspected  something  ;  there  was  a  woman,  and 
you  know  you  're  such  a  fool !  " 


386  FOUND  AT  BLAZING  STAR 

Cass  rose  stiffly. 

"  Don't  be  a  greater  fool  now,  but  go  and  bring  my  horse 
and  wagon  from  the  hill,  and  don't  say  anything  to  the 
driver." 

"  Then  you  did  not  come  alone  ?  " 

"  No ;  it  would  have  been  bold  and  improper." 

"  Please  !  " 

"  And  to  think  it  was  the  ring,  after  all,  that  pointed  to 
this,"  she  said. 

"  The  ring  that  you  returned  to  me." 

"  What  did  you  say  ?  " 

"Nothing." 

"  Don't,  please,  the  wagon  is  coming." 

In  the  next  morning's  edition  of  the  "Red  Chief 
Chronicle  "  appeared  the  following  startling  intelligence  :  — 

EXTRAORDINARY  DISCOVERY ! 

FINDING  OF  THE  STOLEN  TREASURE  OF  WELLS,  FARGO  &  CO. 
OVER  $300,000  RECOVERED. 

Our  readers  will  remember  the  notorious  robbery  of 
Wells,  Fargo  &  Co.'s  treasure  from  the  Sacramento  and 
Red  Chief  Pioneer  Coach  on  the  night  of  September  1. 
Although  most  of  the  gang  were  arrested,  it  is  known  that 
two  escaped,  who,  it  was  presumed,  cached  the  treasure, 
amounting  to  nearly  $500,000  in  gold,  drafts,  and  jewelry, 
as  no  trace  of  the  property  was  found.  Yesterday  our 
esteemed  fellow  citizen,  Mr.  Cass  Beard,  long  and  favor- 
ably known  in  this  county,  succeeded  in  exhuming  the 
treasure  in  a  copse  of  hazel  near  the  Red  Chief  turnpike  — 
adjacent  to  the  spot  where  an  unknown  body  was  lately 
discovered.  This  body  is  now  strongly  suspected  to  be 
that  of  one  Henry  Cass,  a  disreputable  character,  who  has 
since  been  ascertained  to  have  been  one  of  the  road  agents 


FOUND  AT  BLAZING   STAR  387 

who  escaped.  The  matter  is  now  under  legal  investiga- 
tion.  The  successful  result  of  the  search  is  due  to  a  sys- 
tematic plan  evolved  from  the  genius  of  Mr.  Beard,  who 
has  devoted  over  a  year  to  this  labor.  It  was  first  sug- 
gested to  him  by  the  finding  of  a  ring,  now  definitely  iden- 
tified as  part  of  the  treasure  which  was  supposed  to  have 
been  dropped  from  Wells,  Fargo  &  Co.'s  boxes  by  the 
robbers  in  their  midnight  flight  through  Blazing  Star. 

In  the  same  journal  appeared  the  no  less  important  in- 
telligence, which  explains,  while  it  completes,  this  vera- 
cious chronicle :  — 

It  is  rumored  that  a  marriage  is  shortly  to  take  place 
between  the  hero  of  the  late  treasure  discovery  and  a 
young  lady  of  Red  Chief,  whose  devoted  aid  and  assist- 
ance to  this  important  work  is  well  known  to  this  com- 
munity. 


AT  THE  MISSION  OF  SAN  CARMEL 
PROLOGUE 

IT  was  noon  of  the  10th  of  August,  1838.  The  monot 
onous  coast  line  between  Monterey  and  San  Diego  had  set 
its  hard  outlines  against  the  steady  glare  of  the  Californian 
sky  and  the  metallic  glitter  of  the  Pacific  Ocean.  The 
weary  succession  of  rounded,  dome-like  hills  obliterated  all 
sense  of  distance ;  the  rare  whaling  vessel  or  still  rarer 
trader,  drifting  past,  saw  no  change  in  these  rusty  undula- 
tions, barren  of  distinguishing  peak  or  headland,  and  bald 
of  wooded  crest  or  timbered  ravine.  The  withered  ranks 
of  wild  oats  gave  a  dull  procession  of  uniform  color  to  the 
hills,  unbroken  by  any  relief  of  shadow  in  their  smooth, 
round  curves.  As  far  as  the  eye  could  reach,  sea  and  shore 
met  in  one  bleak  monotony,  flecked  by  no  passing  cloud, 
stirred  by  no  sign  of  life  or  motion.  Even  sound  was 
absent ;  the  Angelus,  rung  from  the  invisible  Mission  tower 
far  inland,  was  driven  back  again  by  the  steady  northwest 
trades,  that  for  half  the  year  had  swept  the  coast  line  and 
left  it  abraded  of  all  umbrage  and  color. 

But  even  this  monotony  soon  gave  way  to  a  change  and 
another  monotony  as  uniform  and  depressed.  The  western 
horizon,  slowly  contracting  before  a  wall  of  vapor,  by  four 
o'clock  had  become  a  mere  cold,  steely  strip  of  sea,  into 
which  gradually  the  northern  trend  of  the  coast  faded  and 
was  lost.  As  the  fog  stole  with  soft  step  southward,  all 
distance,  space,  character,  and  locality  again  vanished ;  the 
hills  upon  which  the  sun  still  shone  bore  the  same  monot- 


AT   THE   MISSION   OF   SAN   CARMEL  389 

onous  outlines  as  those  just  wiped  into  space.  Last  of  all, 
before  the  red  sun  sank  like  the  descending  Host,  it  gleamed 
upon  the  sails  of  a  trading  vessel  close  in  shore.  It  was  the 
last  object  visible.  A  damp  breath  breathed  upon  it,  a  soft 
hand  passed  over  the  slate,  the  sharp  penciling  of  the  pic- 
ture faded  and  became  a  confused  gray  cloud. 

The  wind  and  waves,  too,  went  down  in  the  fog ;  the  now 
invisible  and  hushed  breakers  occasionally  sent  the  surf  over 
the  sand  in  a  quick  whisper,  with  grave  intervals  of  silence, 
but  with  no  continuous  murmur  as  before.  In  a  curving, 
bight  of  the  shore  the  creaking  of  oars  in  their  rowlocks 
began  to  be  distinctly  heard,  but  the  boat  itself,  although 
apparently  only  its  length  from  the  sands,  was  invisible. 

"  Steady  now  ;  way  enough  !  "  The  voice  came  from  the 
sea,  and  was  low,  as  if  unconsciously  affected  by  the  fog. 
"  Silence  !  " 

The  sound  of  a  keel  grating  the  sand  was  followed  by  the 
order,  "  Stern  all !  "  from  the  invisible  speaker. 

"  Shall  we  beach  her  ?  "  asked  another  vague  voice. 

"  Not  yet.     Hail  again,  'and  all  together." 

"  Ah  hoy  —  oi  —  oi  —  oy  !  " 

There  were  four  voices,  but  the  hail  appeared  weak  and 
ineffectual,  like  a  cry  in  a  dream,  and  seemed  hardly  to 
reach  beyond  the  surf  before  it  was  suffocated  in  the  creep- 
ing cloud.  A  silence  followed,  but  no  response. 

"  It 's  no  use  to  beach  her  and  go  ashore  until  we  find  the 
boat,"  said  the  first  voice  gravely ;  "  and  we  '11  do  that  if 
the  current  has  brought  her  here.  Are  you  sure  you  've 
got  the  right  bearings  ?  " 

"  As  near  as  a  man  could  off  a  shore  with  not  a  blasted 
p'int  to  take  his  bearings  by." 

There  was  a  long  silence  again,  broken  only  by  the  occa- 
sional dip  of  oars,  keeping  the  invisible  boat-head  to  the  sea. 

"  Take  my  word  for  it,  lads,  it 's  the  last  we  '11  see  of 
that  boat  again,  or  of  Jack  Cranch,  or  the  captain's  babj." 


390  AT   THE   MISSION   OF    SAN   CAEMEL 

"  It  does  look  mighty  queer  that  the  painter  should 
slip.  Jack  Cranch  ain't  the  man  to  tie  a  granny  knot." 

"  Silence  !  "  said  the  invisible  leader.      "  Listen." 

A  hail,  so  faint  and  uncertain  that  it  might  have  been 
the  long-deferred,  far-off  echo  of  their  own,  came  from  the 
sea,  abreast  of  them. 

"  It 's  the  captain.  He  has  n't  found  anything,  or  he 
could  n't  be  so  far  north.  Hark  !  " 

The  hail  was  repeated  again  faintly,  dreamily.  To  the 
•seamen's  trained  ears  it  seemed  to  have  an  intelligent 
significance,  for  the  first  voice  gravely  responded,  "  Aye, 
aye  !  "  and  then  said  softly,  "  Oars." 

The  word  was  followed  by  a  splash.  The  oars  clicked 
sharply  and  simultaneously  in  the  rowlocks,  then  more 
faintly,  then  still  fainter,  and  then  passed  out  into  the 
darkness. 

The  silence  and  shadow  both  fell  together  ;  for  hours  sea 
and  shore  were  impenetrable.  Yet  at  times  the  air  was 
softly  moved  and  troubled,  the  surrounding  gloom  faintly 
lightened  as  with  a  misty  dawn,  and  then  was  dark  again ; 
or  drowsy,  far-off  cries  and  confused  noises  seemed  to  grow 
out  of  the  silence,  and,  when  they  had  attracted  the  weary 
ear,  sank  away  as  in  a  mocking  dream,  and  showed  them- 
selves unreal.  Nebulous  gatherings  in  the  fog  seemed  to 
indicate  stationary  objects  that,  even  as  one  gazed,  moved 
away  ;  the  recurring  lap  and  ripple  on  the  shingle  some- 
times took  upon  itself  the  semblance  of  faint  articulate 
laughter  or  spoken  words.  But  towards  morning  a  certain 
monotonous  grating  on  the  sand,  that  had  for  many  minutes 
alternately  cheated  and  piqued  the  ear,  asserted  itself  more 
strongly,  and  a  moving,  vacillating  shadow  in  the  gloom  be- 
came an  opaque  object  on  the  shore. 

With  the  first  rays  of  the  morning  light  the  fog  lifted. 
As  the  undraped  hills  one  by  one  bared  their  cold  bosoms 
to  the  sun,  the  long  line  of  coast  struggled  back  to  life 


AT   THE   MISSION   OF   SAN   CARMEL  391 

again.  Everything  was  unchanged,  except  that  a  stranded 
boat  lay  upon  the  sands,  and  in  its  stern-sheets  a  sleeping 
child. 


I 


The  10th  of  August,  1852,  brought  little  change  to  the 
.lull  monotony  of  wind,  fog,  and  treeless  coast  line.  Only 
the  sea  was  occasionally  flecked  with  racing-sails  that  out- 
stripped the  old,  slow-creeping  trader,  or  was  at  times 
streaked  and  blurred  with  the  trailing  smoke  of  a  steamer. 
There  were  a  few  strange  footprints  on  those  virgin  sands, 
and  a  fresh  track,  that  led  from  the  beach  over  the  rounded 
hills,  dropped  into  the  bosky  recesses  of  a  hidden  valley 
beyond  the  coast  range. 

It  was  here  that  the  refectory  windows  of  the  Mission  of 
San  Carmel  had  for  years  looked  upon  the  reverse  of  that 
monotonous  picture  presented  to  the  sea.  It  was  here  that 
the  trade-winds,  shorn  of  their  fury  and  strength  in  the 
heated,  oven-like  air  that  rose  from  the  valley,  lost  their 
weary  way  in  the  tangled  recesses  of  the  wooded  slopes, 
and  breathed  their  last  at  the  foot  of  the  stone  cross  before 
the  Mission.  It  was  on  the  crest  of  those  slopes  that  the 
fog  halted  and  walled  in  the  sun-illumined  plain  below ; 
it  was  in  this  plain  that  limitless  fields  of  grain  clothed  the 
flat  adobe  soil ;  here  the  Mission  garden  smiled  over  its 
hedges  of  fruitful  vines,  and  through  the  leaves  of  fig  and 
gnarled  pear  trees  j  and  it  was  here  that  Father  Pedro  had 
lived  for  fifty  years,  found  the  prospect  good,  and  had 
smiled  also. 

Father  Pedro's  smile  was  rare.  He  was  not  a  Las  Casas, 
nor  a  Juuipero  Serra,  but  he  had  the  deep  seriousness  of 
all  disciples  laden  with  the  responsible  wording  of  a  gospel 
not  their  own.  And  his  smile  had  an  ecclesiastical  as  well 
as  a  human  significance,  the  pleasantest  object  in  his  prospect 


392  AT  THE     MISSION    OF   SAN   CARMEL 

being  the  fair  and  curly  head  of  his  boy  acolyte  and  chor- 
ister, Francisco,  which  appeared  among  the  vines,  and  his 
sweetest  pastoral  music,  the  high  soprano  humming  of  a 
chant  with  which  the  boy  accompanied  his  gardening. 

Suddenly  the  acolyte's  chant  changed  to  a  cry  of  terror. 
Running  rapidly  to  Father  Pedro's  side,  he  grasped  his 
sotana,  and  even  tried  to  hide  his  curls  among  its  folds. 

"  'St !  'st !  "  said  the  padre,  disengaging  himself  with 
some  impatience.  "  What  new  alarm  is  this  ?  Is  it  Luz- 
bel  hiding  among  our  Catalan  vines,  or  one  of  those  heathen 
Americanos  from  Monterey  ?  Speak  !  " 

"Neither,  holy  father,"  said  the1  boy,  the  color  struggling 
back  into  his  pale  cheeks,  and  an  apologetic,  bashful  smile 
lighting  his  clear  eyes.  "  Neither  ;  but  oh  !  such  a  gross, 
lethargic  toad  !  And  it  almost  leaped  upon  me." 

"  A  toad  leaped  upon  thee  !  "  repeated  the  good  father 
with  evident  vexation.  "  What  next  ?  I  tell  thee,  child, 
those  foolish  fears  are  most  unmeet  for  thee,  and  must  be 
overcome,  if  necessary,  with  prayer  and  penance.  Fright- 
ened by  a  toad  !  Blood  of  the  Martyrs  !  'T  is  like  any 
foolish  girl !  " 

Father  Pedro  stopped  and  coughed. 

"  I  am  saying  that  no  Christian  child  should  shrink  from 
any  of  God's  harmless  creatures.  And  only  last  week  thou 
wast  disdainful  of  poor  Murieta's  pig,  forgetting  that  San 
Antonio  himself  did  elect  one  his  faithful  companion,  even 
in  glory." 

"  Yes,  but  it  was  so  fat,  and  so  uncleanly,  holy  father," 
replied  the  young  acolyte,  "  and  it  smelt  so." 

"  Smelt  so  ?  "  echoed  the  father  doubtfully.  "  Have  a 
care,  child,  that  this  is  not  luxuriousness  of  the  senses.  I 
have  noticed  of  late  you  gather  overmuch  of  roses  and 
syringa,  excellent  in  their  way  and  in  moderation,  but  still 
not  to  be  compared  with  the  flower  of  Holy  Church,  the 
lily." 


AT   THE    MISSION   OF   SAN   CARMEL  393 

c!  But  lilies  don't  look  well  on  the  refectory  table  and 
against  the  adobe  wall,"  returned  the  acolyte,  with  a  pout 
of  a  spoilt  child  ;  "  and  surely  the  flowers  cannot  help  being 
sweet,  any  more  than  myrrh  or  incense.  And  I  am  not 
frightened  of  the  heathen  Americanos  either,  now.  There 
was  a  small  one  in  the  garden  yesterday,  a  boy  like  me,  and 
he  spoke  kindly  and  with  a  pleasant  face." 

"  What  said  he  to  thee,  child  ?  "  asked  Father  Pedro 
anxiously. 

"  Nay,  the  matter  of  his  speech  I  could  not  understand," 
laughed  the  boy,  "  but  the  manner  was  as  gentle  as  thine, 
holy  father." 

"  'St,  child,"  said  the  padre  impatiently.  "  Thy  likings 
are  as  unreasonable  as  thy  fears.  Besides,  have  I  not  told 
thee  it  ill  becomes  a  child  of  Christ  to  chatter  with  those 
sons  of  Belial  ?  But  canst  thou  not  repeat  the  words,  —  the 
words  he  said  ?  "  he  continued  suspiciously. 

u  'T  is  a  harsh  tongue  the  Americanos  speak  in  their 
throat,"  replied  the  boy.  "  But  he  said  '  devilishnisse ' 
and  '  pretty -as-a-girl,'  and  looked  at  me." 

The  good  father  made  the  boy  repeat  the  words  gravely, 
and  as  gravely  repeated  them  after  him  with  infinite  sim- 
plicity. "They  are  but  heretical  words,"  he  replied,  in 
answer  to  the  boy's  inquiring  look  ;  "  it  is  well  you  under- 
stand not  English.  Enough.  Run  away,  child,  and  be 
ready  for  the  Angelus.  I  will  commune  with  myself  awhile 
under  the  pear-trees." 

Glad  to  escape  so  easily,  the  young  acolyte  disappeared 
down  the  alley  of  fig-trees,  not  without  a  furtive  look  at  the 
patches  of  chick  weed  around  their  roots,  the  possible  am- 
buscade of  creeping  or  saltant  vermin.  The  good  priest 
heaved  a  sigh  and  glanced  round  the  darkening  prospect. 
The  sun  had  already  disappeared  over  the  mountain  wall 
that  lay  between  him  and  the  sea,  rimmed  with  a  faint 
white  line  of  outlying  fog.  A  cool  zephyr  fanned  his 


C94  AT   THE   MISSION   OF   SAN   CARMEL 

cheek,  —  it  was  the  dying  breath  of  the  vientos  generates 
beyond  the  wall.  As  Father  Pedro's  eyes  were  raised  to  this 
barrier,  which  seemed  to  shut  out  the  boisterous  world  be^ 
yond,  he  fancied  he  noticed  for  the  first  time  a  slight  breach 
in  the  parapet,  over  which  an  advanced  banner  of  the  fog 
was  fluttering.  Was  it  an  omen  ?  His  speculations  were 
cut  short  by  a  voice  at  his  very  side. 

He  turned  quickly  and  beheld  one  of  those  "  heathens  " 
against  whom  he  had  just  warned  his  young  acolyte ;  one  of 
that  straggling  band  of  adventurers  whom  the  recent  gold 
discoveries  had  scattered  along  the  coast.  Luckily  the 
fertile  alluvium  of  these  valleys,  lying  parallel  with  the 
sea,  offered  no  "  indications "  to  attract  the  gold-seekers. 
Nevertheless,  to  Father  Pedro  even  the  infrequent  contact 
with  the  Americanos  was  objectionable :  they  were  at  once 
inquisitive  and  careless ;  they  asked  questions  with  the 
sharp  perspicacity  of  controversy ;  they  received  his  grave 
replies  with  the  frank  indifference  of  utter  worldliness. 
Powerful  enough  to  have  been  tyrannical  oppressors,  they 
were  singularly  tolerant  and  gentle,  contenting  themselves 
with  a  playful,  good-natured  irreverence,  which  tormented 
the  good  father  more  than  opposition.  They  were  felt  to 
be  dangerous  and  subversive. 

The  Americano,  however,  who  stood  before  him  did  not 
offensively  sxiggest  these  national  qualities.  A  man  oi 
middle  height,  strongly  built,  bronzed  and  slightly  gray 
from  the  vicissitudes  of  years  and  exposure,  he  had  an  air  of 
practical  seriousness  that  commended  itself  to  Father  Pedro. 
To  his  religious  mind  it  suggested  self-consciousness ;  ex- 
pressed in  the  dialect  of  the  stranger,  it  only  meant  "  busi- 
ness.'' 

"  1  'm  rather  glad  I  found  you  out  here  alone,"  began 
the  latter  ;  "  it  saves  time.  I  have  n't  got  to  take  my  turn 
with  the  rest  in  there,"  —  he  indicated  the  church  with  his 
thumb,  — "and  you  haven't  got  to  make  an  appointment* 


AT   THE   MISSION    OF   SAN   CARMEL  395 

You  have  got  a  clear  forty  minutes  before  the  Angelus 
rings,"  he  added,  consulting  a  large  silver  chronometer, 
"and  I  reckon  I  kin  git  through  my  part  of  the  job  inside 
of  twenty,  leaving  you  ten  minutes  for  remarks.  I  want  to 
confess." 

Father  Pedro  drew  back  with  a  gesture  of  dignity.  The 
stranger,  however,  laid  his  hand  upon  the  padre's  sleeve 
with  the  air  of  a  man  anticipating  objection,  but  never  re- 
fusal, and  went  on. 

"  Of  course,  I  know.  You  want  me  to  come  at  some 
other  time,  and  in  there.  You  want  it  in  the  reg'lar  style. 
That 's  your  way  and  your  time.  My  answer  is  :  it  ain't 
my  way  and  my  time.  The  main  idea  of  confession,  I 
take  it,  is  gettin'  at  the  facts.  I  'm  ready  to  give  'em  if 
you  '11  take  'em  out  here,  now.  If  you  're  willing  to  drop 
the  church  and  confessional,  and  all  that  sort  o'  thing,  I, 
on  my  side,  am  willing  to  give  up  the  absolution,  and  all 
that  sort  o'  thing.  You  might,"  he  added,  with  an  un- 
conscious touch  of  pathos  in  the  suggestion,  "  heave  in  a 
word  or  two  of  advice  after  I  get  through  ;  for  instance 
what  you  'd  do  in  the  circumstances,  you  see  !  That 's  all. 
But  that 's  as  you  please.  It  ain't  part  of  the  business." 

Irreverent  as  this  speech  appeared,  there  was  really  no 
trace  of  such  intention  in  his  manner,  and  his  evident  pro- 
found conviction  that  his  suggestion  was  practical,  and  not 
at  all  inconsistent  with  ecclesiastical  dignity,  would  alone 
have  been  enough  to  touch  the  padre,  had  not  the  stranger's 
dominant  personality  already  overridden  him.  He  hesi- 
tated. The  stranger  seized  the  opportunity  to  take  his  arm, 
and  lead  him  with  the  half  familiarity  of  powerful  protec- 
tion to  a  bench  beneath  the  refectory  window.  Taking 
out  his  watch  again,  he  put  it  in  the  passive  hands  of  the 
astonished  priest,  saying,  "  Time  me,"  cleared  his  throat, 
and  began :  — 

"Fourteen  years    ago  there    was  a  ship  cruisin'  in  the 


396  AT   THE   MISSION   OF   SAN   CARMEL 

Pacific,  jest  off  this  range,  that  was  ez  nigh  on  to  a  hell 
afloat  as  anything  rigged  kin  be.  If  a  chap  managed  to 
dodge  the  cap'en's  helaying-pin  for  a  time  he  was  bound 
to  be  fetched  up  in  the  ribs  at  last  by  the  mate's  boots. 
There  was  a  chap  knocked  down  the  fore  hatch  with  a 
broken  leg  in  the  Gulf,  and  another  jumped  overboard  off 
Cape  Corrientes,  crazy  as  a  loon,  along  a  clip  of  the  head 
from  the  cap'en's  trumpet.  Them  's  facts.  The  ship  was 
a  brigantine,  trading  along  the  Mexican  coast.  The  cap'en 
had  his  wife  aboard,  a  little  timid  Mexican  woman  he  'd 
picked  up  at  Mazatlan.  I  reckon  she  did  n't  get  on  with 
him  any  better  than  the  men,  for  she  ups  and  dies  one  day, 
leavin'  her  baby,  a  year-old  gal.  One  o'  the  crew  was  fond 
o'  that  baby.  He  used  to  get  the  black  nurse  to  put  it  in 
the  dingy,  and  he  'd  tow  it  astern,  rocking  it  with  the 
painter  like  a  cradle.  He  did  it  —  hatin'  the  cap'en  all 
the  same.  One  day  the  black  nurse  got  out  of  the  dingy 
for  a  moment,  when  the  baby  was  asleep,  leavin'  him  alone 
with  it.  An  idea  took  hold  on  him,  jest  from  cussedness, 
you  'd  say,  but  it  was  partly  from  revenge  on  the  cap'en 
and  partly  to  get  away  from  the  ship.  The  ship  was  well 
in  shore,  and  the  current  settin'  towards  it.  He  slipped 
the  painter  —  that  man  —  and  set  himself  adrift  with  the 
baby.  It  was  a  crazy  act,  you  'd  reckon,  for  there  was  n't 
any  oars  in  the  boat;  but  he  had  a  crazy  man's  luck, 
and  he  contrived,  by  sculling  the  boat  with  one  of  the  seats 
he  tore  out,  to  keep  her  out  of  the  breakers,  till  he 
could  find  a  bight  in  the  shore  to  run  her  in.  The  alarm 
was  given  from  the  ship,  but  the  fog  shut  down  upon  him  ; 
he  could  hear  the  other  boats  in  pursuit.  They  seemed  to 
close  in  on  him,  and  by  the  sound  he  judged  the  cap'en 
was  just  abreast  of  him  in  the  gig,  bearing  down  upon  him 
in  the  fog.  He  slipped  out  of  the  dingy  into  the  water 
without  a  splash,  and  struck  out  for  the  breakers.  He  got 
ashore  after  havin'  been  knocked  down  and  dragged  in  foui 


AT   THE   MISSION   OF   SAN   CARMEL  397 

times  by  the  undertow.  He  had  only  one  idea  then,  thank- 
fulness that  he  had  not  taken  the  baby  with  him  in  the 
surf.  You  kin  put  that  down  for  him,  —  it 's  a  fact.  He 
got  off  into  the  hills,  and  made  his  way  up  to  Monterey." 

"  And  the  child  ?  "  asked  the  padre,  with  a  sudden  and 
strange  asperity  that  boded  no  good  to  the  penitent ;  "  the 
child  thus  ruthlessly  abandoned  —  what  became  of  it  ?  " 

"  That 's  just  it,  —  the  child,"  said  the  stranger  gravely. 
"  Well,  if  that  man  was  on  his  death-bed  instead  of  being 
here  talking  to  you,  he  'd  swear  that  he  thought  the 
cap'en  was  sure  to  come  up  to  it  the  next  minit.  That 's 
a  fact.  But  it  was  n't  until  one  day  that  he  —  that 's  me 
—  ran  across  one  of  that  crew  in  Frisco.  *  Hallo,  Cranch,' 
sez  he  to  me,  '  so  you  got  away,  did  n't  you  ?  And  how  's 
the  cap'en's  baby  ?  Grown  a  young  gal  by  this  time,  ain't 
she  ?  '  '  What  are  you  talking -about/  sez  I ;  '  how  should 
I  know  ? '  He  draws  away  from  me,  and  sez,  '  D —  it,' 
sez  he,  '  you  don't  mean  that  you '  —  I  grabs  him  by  the 
throat  and  makes  him  tell  me  all.  And  then  it  appears 
that  the  boat  and  the  baby  were  never  found  again,  and 
every  man  of  that  crew,  cap'en  and  all,  believed  I  had 
stolen  it." 

He  paused.  Father  Pedro  was  staring  at  the  prospect 
with  an  uncompromising  rigidity  of  head  and  shoulder. 

"  It 's  a  bad  lookout  for  me,  ain't  it  ?  "  the  stranger  con- 
tinued, in  serious  reflection. 

"  How  do  I  know,"  said  the  priest  harshly,  without 
turning  his  head,  "  that  you  did  not  make  away  with  this 
child  ?  " 

"  Beg  pardon." 

"  That  you  did  not  complete  your  revenge  by  —  by  — 
killing  it,  as  your  comrade  suspected  you  ?  Ah !  Holy 
Trinity,"  continued  Father  Pedro,  throwing  out  his  hands 
with  an  impatient  gesture,  as  if  to  take  the  place  of  unut- 
terable thought. 


3G8  AT   THE   MISSION   OF   SAN   CAKMEL 

"  How  do  you  know  ?  "  echoed  the  stranger  coldly. 

"  Yes." 

The  stranger  linked  his  fingers  together  and  threw  them 
over  his  knee,  drew  it  up  to  his  chest  caressingly,  and  said 
quietly,  "  Because  you  do  know." 

The  padre  rose  to  his  feet. 

"  What  mean  you  ?  "  he  said,  sternly  fixing  his  eyes 
upon  the  speaker.  Their  eyes  met.  The  stranger's  were 
gray  and  persistent,  with  hanging  corner  lids  that  might 
have  concealed  even  more  purpose  than  they  showed.  The 
padre's  were  hollow,  open,  and  the  whites  slightly  brown, 
as  if  with  tobacco  stains.  Yet  they  were  the  first  to  turn 
away. 

"  I  mean,"  returned  the  stranger,  with  the  same  practi- 
cal gravity,  "  that  you  know  it  would  n't  pay  me  to  come 
here,  if  I  'd  killed  the  baby,  unless  I  wanted  you  to  fix 
things  right  with  me  up  there,"  .pointing  skyward,  "and 
get  absolution ;  and  I  've  told  you  that  was  n't  in  my 
line." 

"  Why  do  you  seek  me,  then  ?  "  demanded  the  padre 
suspiciously. 

"  Because  I  reckon  I  thought  a  man  might  be  allowed  to 
confess  something  short  of  a  murder.  If  you  're  going  to 
draw  the  line  below  that "  — 

"  This  is  but  sacrilegious  levity,"  interrupted  Father 
Pedro,  turning  as  if  to  go.  But  the  stranger  did  not  make 
any  movement  to  detain  him. 

"  Have  you  implored  forgiveness  of  the  father  —  the 
man  you  wronged  —  before  you  came  here  ?  "  asked  the 
priest,  lingering. 

"  Not  much.  It  would  n't  pay  if  he  was  living,  and  he 
died  four  years  ago." 

"  You  are  sure  of  that  ?  " 

"I  am." 

"  There  are  other  relations,  perhaps  ?  " 


AT   THE   MISSION   OF   SAN   CAKMEL  u99 

"None." 

Father  Pedro  was  silent.  When  he  spoke  again,  it  was 
with  a  changed  voice.  "  What  is  your  purpose,  then  ?  " 
lie  asked,  with  the  first  indication  of  priestly  sympathy  in 
his  manner.  "You  cannot  ask  forgiveness  of  the  earthly 
father  you  have  injured,  you  refuse  the  intercession  of  Holy 
Church  with  the  Heavenly  Father  you  have  disobeyed. 
Speak,  wretched  man  !  What  is  it  you  want  ?  " 

"  I  want  to  find  the  child." 

"  But  if  it  were  possible,  if  she  were  still  living,  are  you 
fit  to  seek  her,  to  even  make  yourself  known  to  her,  to 
appear  before  her  ?  " 

"  Well,  if  I  made  it  profitable  to  her,  perhaps." 

"  Perhaps,"  echoed  the  priest  scornfully.  "  So  be  it. 
But  why  come  here  ?  " 

"  To  ask  your  advice.  To  know  how  to  begin  my 
search.  You  know  this  country.  You  were  here  when 
that  boat  drifted  ashore  beyond  that  mountain." 

"Ah,  indeed.  I  have  much  to  do  with  it!  It  is  an 
affair  of  the  alcalde  —  the  authorities  —  of  your  —  your 
police." 

"Is  it?" 

The  padre  again  met  the  stranger's  eyes.  He  stopped, 
with  the  snuff-box  he  had  somewhat  ostentatiously  drawn 
from  his  pocket  still  open  in  his  hand. 

"  Why  is  it  not,  senor  ?  "  he  demanded. 

"  If  she  lives,  she  is  a  young  lady  by  this  time,  and  might 
not  want  the  details  of  her  life  known  to  any  one." 

"  And  how  will  you  recognize  your  baby  in  this  young 
lady  ?  "  asked  Father  Pedro,  with  a  rapid  gesture,  indicat- 
ing the  comparative  heights  of  a  baby  and  an  adult. 

"  I  reckon  I  '11  know  her,  and  her  clothes  too ;  and 
whoever  found  her  would  n't  be  fool  enough  to  destroy 
them." 

"After  fourteen  years  !   Good  !   You  have  faith,  senor  "  — 


400  AT   THE   MISSION   OF   SAN   CARMEL 

"  Oaiich,"  supplied  the  stranger,  consulting  his  watch. 
"  But  time  's  up.  Business  is  business.  Good-by  ;  don't 
let  me  keep  you." 

He  extended  his  hand. 

The  padre  met  it  with  a  dry,  unsympathetic  palm,  as 
sere  and  yellow  as  the  hills.  When  their  hands  separated, 
the  father  still  hesitated,  looking  at  Cranch.  If  he  ex- 
pected further  speech  or  entreaty  from  him  he  was  mis- 
taken, for  'the  American,  without  turning  his  head,  walked 
in  the  same  serious,  practical  fashion  down  the  avenue  of 
fig-trees,  and  disappeared  beyond  the  hedge  of  vines.  The 
outlines  of  the  mountain  beyond  were  already  lost  in  the 
fog.  Father  Pedro  turned  into  the  refectory. 

"  Antonio." 

A  strong  flavor  of  leather,  onions,  and  stable  preceded  the 
entrance  of  a  short,  stout  vaquero  from  the  little  patio. 

"  Saddle  Pinto  and  thine  own  mule  to  accompany  Fran- 
cisco, who  will  take  letters  from  me  to  the  Father  Superior 
at  San  Jose  to-morrow  at  daybreak."  • 

"  At  daybreak,  reverend  father  ?  " 

"  At  daybreak.  Hark  ye,  go  by  the  mountain  trails  and 
avoid  the  highway.  Stop  at  no  posada  nor  fonda ;  but  if 
the  child  is  weary,  rest  then  awhile  at  Don  Juan  Briones' 
or  at  the  rancho  of  the  Blessed  Fisherman.  Have  no  con- 
verse with  stragglers,  least  of  all  those  gentile  Americanos. 
So"  — 

The  first  strokes  of  the  Angelus  came  from  the  nearer 
tower.  With  a  gesture  Father  Pedro  waved  Antonio  aside, 
and  opened  the  door  of  the  sacristy. 

"  Ad  Majorem  Dei  Gloria." 


AT   THE   MISSION   OF   SAN   CARMEL  401 


n 


The  hacienda  of  Don  Juan  Briones,  nestling  in  a  wooded 
eleft  of  the  foothills,  was  hidden,  as  Father  Pedro  had 
wisely  reflected,  from  the  straying  feet  of  travelers  along 
the  dusty  highway  to  San  Jose.  As  Francisco,  emerging 
from  the  Canada,  put  spurs  to  his  mule  at  the  sight  of  the 
Avhite  washed  walls,  Antonio  grunted  :  — 

"  Oh,  aye,  little  priest !  thou  wast  tired  enough  a  mo- 
ment ago,  and  though  we  are  not  three  leagues  from  the 
Blessed  Fisherman,  thou  couldst  scarce  sit  thy  saddle  longer. 
Mother  of  God  !  and  all  to  see  that  little  mongrel,  Juanita. " 

"  But,  good  Antonio,  Juanita  was  my  playfellow,  and  I 
may  not  soon  again  chance  this  way.  And  Juanita  is  not 
a  mongrel,  no  more  than  I  am." 

"  She  is  a  mestiza,  and  thou  art  a  child  of  the  church, 
though  this  following  of  gypsy  wenches  does  not  show 
it." 

"But  Father  Pedro  does  not  object,"  urged  the  boy. 

"  The  reverend  father  has  forgotten  he  was  ever  young," 
replied  Antonio  sententiously,  "  or  he  would  n't  set  fire  and 
tow  together." 

"  What  sayest  thou,  good  Antonio  ?  "  asked  Francisco 
quickly,  opening  his  blue  eyes  in  frank  curiosity  ;  "  who 
is  fire,  and  who  is  tow  ?  " 

The  worthy  muleteer,  utterly  abashed  and  confounded  by 
this  display  of  the  acolyte's  direct  simplicity,  contented 
himself  by  shrugging  his  shoulders,  and  a  vague  "  Quien 
sabe?" 

"  Come,"  said  the  boy  gayly,  "  confess  it  is  only  the 
aguardiente  of  the  Blessed  Fisherman  thou  missest.  Never 
fear,  Juanita  will  find  thee  some.  And  see !  here  she 
comes." 

There  was  a  flash  of  white  flounces  along  the  dark  brown 


402  AT   THE   MISSION   OF   SAN   CARMEL 

corridor,  the  twinkle  of  satin  slippers,  the  flying  out  of  long 
black  braids,  and  with  a  cry  of  joy  a  young  girl  threw 
herself  upon  Francisco  as  he  entered  the  patio,  and  nearly 
dragged  him  from  his  mule. 

"  Have  a  care,  little  sister,"  laughed  the  acolyte,  looking 
at  Antonio,  "  or  there  will  be  a  conflagration.  Am  I  the 
fire  ?  "  he  continued,  submitting  to  the  two  sounding  kisses 
:;he  young  girl  placed  upon  either  cheek,  but  still  keeping 
his  mischievous  glance  upon  the  muleteer. 

"  Quien  sabe  ? "  repeated  Antonio  gruffly,  as  the  young 
girl  blushed  under  his  significant  eyes.  "  It  \s  no  affair  of 
mine,"  he  added  to  himself,  as  he  led  Pinto  away.  "  Per- 
haps Father  Pedro  is  right,  and  this  young  twig  of  the 
church  is  as  dry  and  sapless  as  himself.  Let  the  mestiza 
burn  if  she  likes." 

"Quick,  Pancho,"  said  the  young  girl,  eagerly  leading 
him  along  the  corridor.  "  This  way.  I  must  talk  with 
thee  before  thou  seest  Don  Juan ;  that  is  why  I  ran  to 
intercept  thee,  and  not  as  that  fool  Antonio  would  signify, 
to  shame  thee.  Wast  thou  ashamed,  my  Pancho  ?  " 

The  boy  threw  his  arm  familiarly  round  the  supple, 
stayless  little  waist,  accented  only  by  the  belt  of  the  light 
flounced  saya,  and  said,  "  But  why  this  haste  and  feverish- 
ness,  'Nita  ?  And  now  I  look  at  thee,  thou  hast  been 
crying." 

They  had  emerged  from  a  door  in  the  corridor  into  the 
bright  sunlight  of  a  walled  garden.  The  girl  dropped  her 
eyes,  cast  a  quick  glance  around  her,  and  said,  — 

"  Not  here  —  to  the  arroyo ; "  and  half  leading,  half  drag- 
ging him,  made  her  way  through  a  copse  of  manzanita  and 
alder  until  they  heard  the  faint  tinkling  of  water.  "Dost 
thou  remember,"  said  the  girl,  "  it  was  here,"  pointing  to 
an  embayed  pool  in  the  dark  current,  "  that  I  baptized  thee, 
when  Father  Pedro  first  brought  thee  here,  when  we  both 
played  at  being  monks?  They  were  dear  old  days,  for 


AT   THE   MISSION   OF   SAN   CAKMEL  403 

Father  Pedro  would  trust  no  one  with  thee  but  me,  and 
always  kept  us  near  him." 

"•  Aye,  and  he  said  I  would  be  profaned  by  the  touch  of 
any  other,  and  so  himself  always  washed  and  dressed  me, 
and  made  my  bed  near  his." 

"  And  took  thee  .away  again,  and  I  saw  thee  not  till  thou 
earnest  with  Antonio,  over  a  year  ago,  to  the  cattle  brand- 
ing. And  now,  my  Pancho,  I  may  never  see  thee  again." 
She  buried  her  face  in  her  hands  and  sobbed  aloud. 

The  little  acolyte  tried  to  comfort  her,  but  with  such 
abstraction  of  manner  and  inadequacy  of  warmth  that  she 
hastily  removed  his  caressing  hand. 

"  But  why  ?     What  has  happened  ?  "  he  asked  eagerly. 

The  girl's  manner  had  changed.  Her  eyes  flashed,  and 
she  put  her  brown  fist  on  her  waist,  and  began  to  rock  from 
side  to  side. 

"  But  I  '11  not  go,"  she  said  viciously. 

"  Go  where  ?  "  asked  the  boy. 

"  Oh,  where  ?  "  she  echoed  impatiently.  "  Hear  me, 
Francisco.  Thou  knowest  I  am,  like  thee,  an  orphan ;  but 
I  have  not,  like  thee,  a  parent  in  the  Holy  Church.  For, 
alas  !  "  she  added  bitterly,  "  I  am  not  a  boy,  and  have  not 
a  lovely  voice  borrowed  from  the  angels.  I  was,  like  thee, 
a  foundling,  kept  by  the  charity  of  the  reverend  fathers, 
until  Don  Juan,  a  childless  widower,  adopted  me.  I  was 
happy,  not  knowing  and  caring  who  were  the  parents  who 
had  abandoned  me,  happy  only  in  the  love  of  him  who 
became  my  adopted  father.  And  now  "  —  She  paused. 

"  And  now  ?  "  echoed  Francisco  eagerly. 

"  And  now  they  say  it  is  discovered  who  are  my 
parents." 

"  And  they  live  ?  " 

"  Mother  of  God  !  no,"  said  the  girl,  with  scarcely  filial 
piety.  "  There  is  some  one,  a  thing,  a  mere  Don  Fulano, 
who  knows  it  all,  it  seems,  who  is  to  be  rny  guardian." 


404  AT   THE   MISSION    OF   SAN   CARMEL 

"  But  how  ?  Tell  me  all,  dear  Juanita,"  said  the  boy 
with  a  feverish  interest,  that  contrasted  so  strongly  with  his 
previous  abstraction  that  Juanita  bit  her  lips  with  vexa- 
tion. 

"  Ah  !  How  ?  Santa  Barbara  !  An  extravaganza  for 
children.  A  necklace  of  lies.  I  am  lost  from  a  ship  of 
which  my  father  —  Heaven  rest  him  !  —  is  general,  and  I 
am  picked  up  among  the  weeds  on  the  seashore,  like  Moses 
in  the  bulrushes.  A  pretty  story,  indeed." 

"  Oh,  how  beautiful ! "  exclaimed  Francisco  enthusiasti- 
cally. "  Ah,  Juanita,  would  it  had  been  me  !  " 

"  Thee  !  "  said  the  girl  bitterly,  —  "  thee  !  No  !  —  it 
was  a  girl  wanted.  Enough,  it  was  me." 

"  And  when  does  the  guardian  come  ?  "  persisted  the  boy, 
with  sparkling  eyes. 

"  He  is  here  even  now,  with  that  pompous  fool  the  Amer- 
ican alcalde  from  Monterey,  a  wretch  who  knows  nothing  of 
the  country  or  the  people,  but  who  helped  the  other  Amer- 
ican to  claim  me.  I  tell  thee,  Francisco,  like  as  not  it  is  all 
a  folly,  —  some  senseless  blunder  of  those  Americanos  that 
impose  upon  Don  Juan's  simplicity  and  love  for  them." 

"  How  looks  he,  this  Americano  who  seeks  thee  ?  "  asked 
Francisco. 

"  What  care  I  how  he  looks,"  said  Juanita,  "  or  what  he 
i.s  ?  He  may  have  the  four  S's,  for  all  I  care.  Yet,"  she 
added  with  a  slight  touch  of  coquetry,  "  he  is  not  bad  to 
look  upon,  now  I  recall  him." 

"  Had  he  a  long  mustache,  and  a  sad,  sweet  smile,  and  a 
voice  so  gentle  and  yet  so  strong  that  you  felt  he  ordered 
you  to  do  things  without  saying  it  ?  And  did  his  eye  read 
your  thoughts  ?  —  that  very  thought  that  you  must  obey 
him?" 

"  Saints  preserve  thee,  Pancho  I      Of  whom  dost  thou 
eak  ?  " 

"  Listen,  Juanita.     It  was  a  year  ago,  the  eve  of  Nativi- 


AT   THE   MISSION   OF   SAN   CA.RMEL  405 

dad  ;  he  was  in  the  church  when  I  sang.  Look  where  I 
would,  I  always  met  his  eye.  When  the  canticle  was  sung 
and  I  was  slipping  into  the  sacristy,  he  was  beside  me.  He 
spoke  kindly,  but  I  understood  him  not.  He  put  into  my 
hand  gold  for  an  aguiualdo.  I  pretended  I  understood  not 
that  also,  and  put  it  into  the  box  for  the  poor.  He  smiled, 
and  went  away.  Often  have  I  seen  him  since  ;  and  last 
night,  when  I  left  the  Mission,  he  was  there  again  with 
Father  Pedro." 

"  And  Father  Pedro  —  what  said  he  of  him  ?  "  asked 
Juanita. 

"  Nothing."  The  boy  hesitated.  "  Perhaps  —  because 
I  said  nothing  of  the  stranger." 

Juanita  laughed.  "  So  thou  canst  keep  a  secret  from  the 
good  father  when  thou  carest.  But  why  dost  thou  think 
this  stranger  is  my  new  guardian  ?  " 

u  Dost  thou  not  see,  little  sister  ?  He  was  even  then  seek- 
ing thee,"  said  the  boy  with  joyous  excitement.  "  Doubt- 
less he  knew  we  were  friends  and  playmates  —  maybe  the 
good  father  has  told  him  thy  secret.  For  it  is  no  idle  tale 
of  the  alcalde,  believe  me.  I  see  it  all !  It  is  true!  " 

"  Then  thou  wilt  let  him  take  me  away,"  exclaimed  the 
girl  bitterly,  withdrawing  the  little  hand  he  had  clasped  in 
his  excitement. 

"  Alas,  Juanita,  what  avails  it  now  ?  I  am  sent  to  San 
Jose",  charged  with  a  letter  to  the  Father  Superior,  who  will 
give  me  further  orders.  What  they  are,  or  how  long  I 
must  stay,  I  know  not.  But  I  know  this  :  the  good  Father 
Pedro's  eyes  were  troubled  when  he  gave  me  his  blessing, 
and  he  held  me  long  in  his  embrace.  Pray  Heaven  I  have 
committed  no  fault.  Still  it  may  be  that  the  reputation  of 
my  gift  hath  reached  the  Father  Superior,  and  he  would 
advance  me  ;  "  and  Francisco's  eyes  lit  up  with  youthful 
pride  at  the  thought. 

Not  so  Juanita.     Her  black  eyes  snapped  suddenly  with 


406  AT   THE   MISSION   OF   SAN   CARMEL 

suspicion,  she  drew  in  her  breath,  and  closed  her  little 
mouth  firmly.  Then  she  began  a  crescendo. 

Mother  of  God  !  was  that  all  ?  Was  he  a  child,  to  be 
simt  away  for  such  time  or  for  such  purpose  as  best  pleased 
the  fathers  ?  Was  he  to  know  no  more  than  that  ?  With 
such  gifts  as  God  had  given  him,  was  he  not  at  least  to  have 
i30ine  word  in  disposing  of  them  ?  Ah !  she  would  not 
stand  it. 

The  boy  gazed  admiringly  at  the  piquant  energy  of  the 
little  figure  before  him,  and  envied  her  courage.  "  It  is 
the  mestizo  blood,"  he  murmured  to  himself.  Then  aloud, 
"  Thou  shouldst  have  been  a  man,  'Nlta." 

"  And  thou  a  woman." 

"  Or  a  priest.     Eh,  what  is  that  ?  " 

They  had  both  risen,  Juanita  defiantly,  her  black  braids 
flying  as  she  wheeled  and  suddenly  faced  the  thicket,  Fran* 
cisco  clinging  to  her  with  trembling  hands  and  whitened 
lips.  A  stone,  loosened  from  the  hillside,  had  rolled  to  their 
feet ;  there  was  a  crackling  in  the  alders  on  the  slope  above 
them. 

"  Is  it  a  bear,  or  a  brigand  ?  "  whispered  Francisco  hur- 
riedly, sounding  the  uttermost  depths  of  his  terror  in  the 
two  words. 

"  It  is  an  eavesdropper,"  said  Juanita  impetuously ; 
"  and  who  and  why  I  intend  to  know,"  and  she  started 
towards  the  thicket. 

"  Do  not  leave  me,  good  Juanita,  "  said  the  young  aco- 
lyte, grasping  the  girl's  skirt. 

"  Nay ;  run  to.  the  hacienda  quickly,  and  leave  me  to 
search  the  thicket.  Kun  !  " 

The  boy  did  not  wait  for  a  second  injunction,  but  scuttled 
away,  his  long  coat  catching  in  the  brambles,  while  Juanita 
darted  like  a  kitten  into  the  bushes.  Her  search  was  fruit- 
less, however,  and  she  was  returning  impatiently,  when  her 
quick  eye  fell  upon  a  letter  lying  amid  the  dried  grass  where 


AT   THE    MISSION   OF   SAN   CARMEL  407 

she  and  Francisco  had  been  seated  the  moment  before.  It 
had  evidently  fallen  from  his  breast  when  he  had  risen  sud- 
denly, and  been  overlooked  in  his  alarm.  It  was  Father 
Pedro's  letter  to  the  Father  Superior  of  San  Jose. 

In  an  instant  she  had  pounced  upon  it  as  viciously  as  if 
it  had  been  the  interloper  she  was  seeking.  She  knew  that 
she  held  in  her  fingers  the  secret  of  Francisco's  sudden  ban- 
ishment. She  felt  instinctively  that  this  yellowish  envelope, 
with  its  red  string  and  its  blotch  of  red  seal,  was  his  sen- 
tence and  her  own.  The  little  mestiza  had  not  been  brought 
up  to  respect  the  integrity  of  either  locks  or  seals,  both  be- 
ing unknown  in  the  patriarchal  life  of  the  hacienda.  Yet 
with  a  certain  feminine  instinct  she  looked  furtively  around 
her,  and  even  managed  to  dislodge  the  clumsy  wax  without 
marring  the  pretty  effigy  of  the  crossed  keys  impressed  upon 
it.  Then  she  opened  the  letter  and  read. 

Suddenly  she  stopped  and  put  back  her  hair  from  her 
brown  temples.  Then  a  succession  of  burning  blushes  fol- 
lowed each  other  in  waves  from  her  neck  up,  and  died  in 
drops  of  moisture  in  her  eyes.  This  continued  until  she 
was  fairly  crying,  dropping  the  letter  from  her  hands  and 
rocking  to  and  fro.  In  the  midst  of  this  she  quickly  stopped 
again  ;  the  clouds  broke,  a  sunshine  of  laughter  started  from 
her  eyes,  she  laughed  shyly,  she  laughed  loudly,  she  laughed 
hysterically.  Then  she  stopped  again  as  suddenly,  knitted 
her  brows,  swooped  down  once  more  upon  the  letter,  and 
turned  to  fly.  But  at  the  same  moment  the  letter  was 
quietly  but  firmly  taken  from  her  hand,  and  Mr.  Jack  Cranch 
stood  beside  her. 

Juanita  was  crimson,  but  unconquered.  She  mechan- 
ically held  out  her  haijd  for  the  letter ;  the  American 
took  her  little  fingers,  kissed  them,  and  said,  — 

"  How  are  you  again  ?  " 

"The  letter,"  replied  Juanita,  with  a  strong  disposition 
fco  stamp  her  foot. 


408  AT   THE   MISSION   OF   SAN  CAEMEL 

"  But,"  said  Cranch,  with  business  directness,  "  you  've 
read  enough  to  know  it  is  n't  for  you." 

"  Nor  for  you  either,"  responded  Juanita. 

"  True.  It  is  for  the  Reverend  Father  Superior  of  San 
Jose  Mission.  I  '11  give  it  to  him." 

Juanita  was  becoming  alarmed,  first  at  this  prospect,  sec- 
ond at  the  power  the  stranger  seemed  to  be  gaining  over  her. 
She  recalled  Francisco's  description  of  him  with  something 
like  superstitious  awe. 

"  But  it  concerns  Francisco.  It  contains  a  secret  he 
should  know." 

"  Then  you  can  tell  him  it.  Perhaps  it  would  come 
easier  from  you." 

Juanita  blushed  again.  "  Why  ?  "  she  asked,  half  dread- 
ing his  reply. 

"  Because,"  -said  the  American  quietly,  "you  are  old 
playmates  ;  you  are  attached  to  each  other." 

Juanita  bit  her  lips.  "  Why  don't  you  read  it  your- 
self ?  "  she  asked  bluntly. 

"  Because  I  don't  read  other  people's  letters,  and  if  it 
concerns  me  you  '11  tell  me." 

"  What  if  I  don't  ?  " 

"  Then  the  Father  Superior  will." 

"  I  believe  you  know  Francisco's  secret  already,"  said 
the  girl  boldly. 

"  Perhaps." 

"  Then,  Mother  of  God  !  Senor  Crancho,  what  do  you 
want  ?  " 

"  I  do  not  want  to  separate  two  such  good  friends  as  you 
and  Francisco." 

"Perhaps  you'd  like  to  clainmis  both,"  said  the  girl, 
with  a  sneer  that  was  not  devoid  of  coquetry. 

"  I  should  be  delighted." 

"Then  here  is  your  occasion,  senor,  for  here  comes 
my  adopted  father,  Don  Juan,  and  your  friend,  Senor 
Br — r — own,  the  American  alcalde." 


AT   THE   MISSION   OF   SAN   CAEMEL  409 

Two  men  appeared  in  the  garden  path  below  them. 
The  stiff,  glazed,  broad-brimmed  black  hat,  surmounting  a 
dark  face  of  quixotic  gravity  and  romantic  rectitude,  indi- 
cated D«n  Juan  Briones.  His  companion,  lazy,  specious, 
and  red-faced,  was  Senor  Brown,  the  American  alcalde. 

"  Well,  I  reckon  we  kin  about  call  the  thing  fixed,"  said 
Senor  Brown,  with  a  large  wave  of  the  hand,  suggesting  a 
sweeping  away  of  all  trivial  details.  "  Ez  I  was  saying  to 
the  don  yer,  when  two  high-toned  gents  like  you  and  him 
come  together  in  a  delicate  matter  of  this  kind,  it  ain't  no 
hoss  trade  nor  sharp  practice.  The  don  is  that  lofty  in 
principle  that  he 's  williri'  to  sacrifice  his  affections  for 
the  good  of  the  gal ;  and  you,  on  your  hand,  kalkilate  to 
see  all  he  's  done  for  her,  and  go  your  whole  pile  better. 
You  '11  make  the  legal  formalities  good.  I  reckon  that  old 
Injin  woman  who  can  swear  to  the  finding  of  the  baby  on 
the  shore  will  set  things  all  right  yet.  For  the  matter  o' 
that,  if  you  want  anything  in  the  way  of  a  certificate,  I  'm 
«»n  hand  always." 

"  Juanita  and  myself  are  at  your  disposition,  caballeros," 
Add  Don  Juan,  with  a  grave  exaltation.  "Never  let  it  be 
aaid  that  the  Mexican  nation  was  outdone  by  the  great 
Americanos  in  deeds  of  courtesy  and  affection.  Let  it 
rather  stand  that  Juanita  was  a  sacred  trust  put  into  my 
Lands  years  ago  by  the  goddess  of  American  liberty,  and 
nurtured  in  the  Mexican  eagle's  nest.  Is  it  not  so,  my 
soul  ?  "  he  added,  more  humanly,  to  the  girl,  when  he  had 
quite  recovered  from  the  intoxication  of  his  own  speech. 
"We  love  thee,  little  one,  but  we  keep  our  honor." 

"  There 's  nothing  mean  about  the  old  man,"  said  Brown 
aJmiringly,  with  a  slight  dropping  of  his  left  eyelid ;  "  his 
Lead  is  level,  and  he  goes  with  his  party." 

"  Thou  takest  my  daughter,  Senor  Cranch,"  continued 
t.fe  old  man,  carried  away  by  his  emotion  j  "but  the 
A  merican  nation  gives  me  a  son." 


410  AT   THE   MISSION   OF   SAN  CARMEL 

"  You  know  not  what  you  say,  father,"  said  the  young 
girl  angrily,  exasperated  by  a  slight  twinkle  in  the  Ameri- 
can's eye. 

"  Not  so,"  said  Cranch.  "  Perhaps  one  of  the  Ameri- 
can nation  may  take  him  at  his  word." 

"  Then,  caballeros,  you  will,  for  the  moment  at  least, 
possess  yourselves  of  the  house  and  its  poor  hospitality," 
said.  Don  Juan,  with  time-honored  courtesy,  producing  the 
rustic  key  of  the  gate  of  the  patio.  "  It  is  at  your  disposi- 
tion, caballeros,"  he  repeated,  leading  the  way  as  his  guests 
passed  into  the  corridor. 

Two  hours  passed.  The  hills  were  darkening  on  their 
eastern  slopes ;  the  shadows  of  the  few  poplars  that 
sparsedly  dotted  the  dusty  highway  were  falling  in  long 
black  lines  that  looked  like  ditches  on  the  dead  level  of 
the  tawny  fields ;  the  shadows  of  slowly  moving  cattle 
were  mingling  with  their  own  silhouettes,  and  becoming 
more  and  more  grotesque.  A  keen  wind  rising  in  the  hills 
was  already  creeping  from  the  Canada  as  from  the  mouth  of 
a  funnel,  and  sweeping  the  plains.  Antonio  had  forgathered 
with  the  servants,  had  pinched  the  ears  of  the  maids,  had 
partaken  of  aguardiente,  had  saddled  the  mules,  —  Antonio 
was  becoming  impatient. 

And  then  a  singular  commotion  disturbed  the  peaceful 
monotony  of  the  patriarchal  household  of  Don  Juan  Brio- 
nes.  The  stagnant  courtyard  was  suddenly  alive  with 
peons  and  servants,  running  hither  and  thither.  The  alleys 
and  gardens  were  filled  with  retainers.  A  confusion  of 
questions,  orders,  and  outcries  rent  the  air,  the  plains  shook 
with  the  galloping  of  a  dozen  horsemen.  For  the  acolyte 
Francisco,  of  the  Mission  San  Carmel,  had  disappeared 
and  vanished,  and  from  that  day  the  hacienda  of  Don  Juan 
Briones  knew  him  no  more. 


AT  THE   MISSION   OF  SAN  CARMEL  411 


m 


When  Father  Pedro  saw  the  yellow  mules  vanish  under 
the  low  branches  of  the  oaks  beside  the  little  graveyard, 
caught  the  last  glitter  of  the  morning  sun  on  Pinto's  shining 
headstall,  and  heard  the  last  tinkle  of  Antonio's  spurs, 
something  very  like  a  mundane  sigh  escaped  him.  To  the 
simple  wonder  of  the  majority  of  early  worshipers  —  the 
half-breed  converts  who  rigorously  attended  the  spiritual 
ministrations  of  the  Mission,  and  ate  the  temporal  provisions 
of  the  reyerend  fathers  —  he  deputed  the  functions  of  the 
first  mass  to  a  coadjutor,  and,  breviary  in  hand,  sought  the 
orchard  of  venerable  pear-trees.  Whether  there  was  any 
occult  sympathy  in  his  reflections  with  the  contemplation  of 
their  gnarled,  twisted,  gouty,  and  knotty  limbs,  still  bear- 
ing gracious  and  goodly  fruit,  I  know  not,  but  it  was 
his  private  retreat,  and  under  one  of  the  most  rheumatic 
and  misshapen  trunks  there  was  a  rude  seat.  Here  Father 
Pedro  sank,  his  face  toward  the  mountain  wall  between  him 
and  the  invisible  sea.  The  relentless,  dry,  practical  Cali- 
fornian  sunlight  falling  on  his  face  grimly  pointed  out  a 
night  of  vigil  and  suffering.  The  snuffy  yellow  of  his  eyes 
was  injected  yet  burning,  his  temples  were  ridged  and 
veined  like  a  tobacco  leaf ;  the  odor  of  desiccation  which 
his  garments  always  exhaled  was  hot  and  feverish,  as  if  the 
fire  had  suddenly  awakened  among  the  ashes. 

Of  what  was  Father  Pedro  thinking  ? 

He  was  thinking  of  his  youth,  —  a  youth.spent  under  the 
shade  of  those  pear-trees,  even  then  venerable  as  now.  He 
was  thinking  of  his  youthful  dreams  of  heathen  conquest, 
emulating  the  sacrifices  and  labors  of  Junipero  Serra ;  a 
dream  cut  short  by  the  orders  of  the  archbishop,  that  sent 
his  companion,  Brother  Diego,  north  on  a  mission  to  strange 
lands,  and  condemned  him  to  the  isolation  of  San  Carmel. 


412  AT   THE   MISSION   OF   SAN   CARMEL 

He  was  thinking  of  that  fierce  struggle  with  envy  of  a 
fellow  creature's  better  fortune,  that,  conquered  by  prayer 
and  penance,  left  him  patient,  submissive,  and  devoted  to 
his  humble  work  ;  how  he  raised  up  converts  to  the  faith, 
even  taking  them  from  the  breast  of  heretic  mothers. 

He  recalled  how  once,  with  the  zeal  of  propagandism 
quickening  in  the  instincts  of  a  childless  man,  he  had 
dreamed  of  perpetuating  his  work  through  some  sinless 
creation  of  his  own  ;  of  dedicating  some  virgin  soul,  one 
over  whom  he  could  have  complete  control,  restricted  by  no 
human  paternal  weakness,  to  the  task  he  had  begun.  But 
how  ?  Of  all  the  boys  eagerly  offered  to  the  church  by 
their  parents  there  seemed  none  sufficiently  pure  and  free 
from  parental  taint.  He  remembered  how  one  night, 
through  the  intercession  of  the  Blessed  Virgin  herself,  as  he 
firmly  then  believed,  this  dream  was  fulfilled.  An  Indian 
woman  brought  him  a  Waugee  child  —  a  baby  girl  that  she 
had  picked  up  on  the  seashore.  There  were  no  parents 
to  divide  the  responsibility,  the  child  had  no  past  to  con- 
front, except  the  memory  of  the  ignorant  Indian  woman, 
who  deemed  her  duty  done,  and  whose  interest  ceased  in 
giving  it  to  the  padre.  The  austere  conditions  of  his 
monkish  life  compelled  him  to  the  first  step  in  his  adoption 
of  it  —  the  concealment  of  its  sex.  This  was  easy  enough, 
as  he  constituted  himself  from  that  moment  its  sole  nurse 
and  attendant,  and  boldly  baptized  it  among  the  other 
children  by  the  name  of  Francisco.  No  others  knew  its 
origin,  nor  cared  to  know.  Father  Pedro  had  taken  a 
muchacho  foundling  for  adoption  ;  his  jealous  seclusion  of 
it  and  his  personal  care  was  doubtless  some  sacerdotal  for- 
mula at  once  high  and  necessary. 

He  remembered  with  darkening  eyes  and  impeded  breath 
how  his  close  companionship  and  daily  care  of  this  helpless 
child  had  revealed  to  him  the  fascinations  of  that  paternity 
denied  to  him ;  how  he  had  deemed  it  his  duty  to  struggle 


AT   THE   MISSION   OF   SAN   CARMEL  413 

against  the  thrill  of  baby  fingers  laid  upon  his  yellow  cheeks, 
the  pleading  of  inarticulate  words,  the  eloquence  of  wonder- 
seeing  and  mutely  questioning  eyes  ;  how  he  had  succumbed 
again  and  again,  and  then  struggled  no  more,  seeing  only 
in  them  the  suggestion  of  childhood  made  incarnate  in  the 
Holy  Babe.  And  yet,  even  as  he  thought,  he  drew  from 
his  gown  a  little  shoe,  and  laid  it  beside  his  breviary.  It 
was  Francisco's  baby  slipper,  a  duplicate  to  those  worn  by 
the  miniature  waxen  figure  of  the  Holy  Virgin  herself  in 
her  niche  in  the  transept. 

Had  he  felt  during  these  years  any  qualms  of  conscience 
at  this  concealment  of  the  child's  sex?  None.  For  to  him 
the  babe  was  sexless,  as  most  befitted  one  who  was  to 
live  and  die  at  the  foot  of  the  altar.  There  was  no  attempt 
to  deceive  God ;  what  mattered  else  ?  Nor  was  he  withhold- 
ing the  child  from  the  ministrations  of  the  sacred  sisters. 
There  was  no  convent  near  the  Mission,  and  as  each  year 
passed,  the  difficulty  of  restoring  her  to  the  position  and 
duties  of  her  sex  became  greater  and  more  dangerous.  And 
then  the  acolyte's  destiny  was  sealed  by  what  again  appeared 
to  Father  Pedro  as  a  direct  interposition  of  Providence.  The 
child  developed  a  voice  of  such  exquisite  sweetness  and 
purity  that  an  angel  seemed  to  have  strayed  into  the  little 
choir,  and  kneeling  worshipers  below,  transported,  gazed 
upwards,  half  expectant  of  a  heavenly  light  breaking  through 
the  gloom  of  the  raftered  ceiling.  The  fame  of  the  little 
singer  filled  the  valley  of  San  Carmel ;  it  was  a  miracle 
vouchsafed  the  Mission  ;  Don  Josd  Peralta  remembered,  ah, 
yes,  to  have  heard  in  old  Spain  of  boy  choristers  with  such 
voices! 

And  was  this  sacred  trust  to  be  withdrawn  from  him  ? 
Was  this  life,  which  he  had  brought  out  of  an  unknown 
world  of  sin,  unstained  and  pure,  consecrated  and  dedicated 
to  God,  just  in  the  dawn  of  power  and  promise  for  the  glory 
of  the  Mother  Church,  to  be  taken  from  his  side  ?  and 


414  AT   THE   MISSION   OF   SAN   CARMEL 

at  the  word  of  a  self-convicted  man  of  sin  —  a  man  whose 
tardy  repentance  was  not  yet  absolved  by  the  Holy  Church  ? 
Never  !  never  !  Father  Pedro  dwelt  upon  the  stranger's 
rejections  of  the  ministrations  of  the  Church  with  a  pitiable 
satisfaction  ;  had  he  accepted  it,  he  would  have  had  a  sacred 
claim  upon  Father  Pedro's  sympathy  and  confidence.  Yet 
he  rose  again  uneasily,  and  with  irregular  steps  returned 
to  the  corridor,  passing  the  door  of  the  familiar  little  cell 
beside  his  own.  The  window,  the  table,  and  even  the 
scant  toilette  utensils  were  filled  with  the  flowers  of  yes- 
terday, some  of  them  withered  and  dry ;  the  white  gown 
of  the  little  chorister  was  hanging  emptily  against  the 
wall.  Father  Pedro  started  and  trembled  ;  it  seemed  as 
if  the  spiritual  life  of  the  child  had  slipped  away  with  its 
garments. 

In  that  slight  chill,  which  even  in  the  hottest  days  in 
California  always  invests  any  shadow  cast  in  that  white 
sunlight,  Father  Pedro  shivered  in  the  corridor.  Passing 
again  into  the  garden,  he  followed  in  fancy  the  wayfaring 
figure  of  Francisco,  saw  the  child  arrive  at  the  rancho  of 
Don  Juan,  and  with  the  fateful  blindness  of  all  dreamers 
projected  a  picture  most  unlike  the  reality.  He  followed 
the  pilgrims  even  to  San  Jose,  and  saw  the  child  deliver 
the  missive  which  gave  the  secret  of  her  sex  and  condition 
to  the  Father  Superior.  That  the  authority  at  San  Jose 
might  dissent  with  the  padre  of  San  Carmel,  or  decline  to 
carry  out  his  designs,  did  not  occur  to  the  one-idea'd  priest. 
Like  all  solitary  people,  isolated  from  passing  events,  he 
made  no  allowance  for  occurrences  outside  of  his  routine. 
Yet  at  this  moment  a  sudden  thought  whitened  his  yellow 
cheek.  What  if  the  Father  Superior  deemed  it  necessary 
to  impart  the  secret  to  Francisco  ?  Would  the  child  recoil 
at  the  deception,  and,  perhaps,  cease  to  love  him  ?  It  was 
the  first  time,  in  his  supreme  selfishness,  he  had  taken  the 
acolyte's  feelings  into  account.  He  had  thought  of  him 


AT  THE   MISSION  OF   SAN  CARMEL  415 

only  as  one  owing  implicit  obedience  to  him  as  a  temporal 
and  spiritual  guide. 

"  Reverend  father  !  " 

He  turned  impatiently.  It  was  his  muleteer,  Jose. 
Father  Pedro's  sunken  eye  brightened. 

"  Ah,  Josd  !  Quickly,  then  ;  hast  thou  found  Sanchi- 
cha  ?  " 

"  Truly,  your  reverence  !  And  I  have  brought  her  with 
me,  just  as  she  is  ;  though  if  your  reverence  make  more 
of  her  than  to  fill  the  six-foot  hole  and  say  a  prayer  over 
her,  I  '11  give  the  mule  that  brought  her  here  for  food 
for  the  bull's  horns.  She  neither  hears  nor  speaks,  but 
whether  from  weakness  or  sheer  wantonness,  I  know  not." 

"Peace,  then!  and  let  thy  tongue  take  example  from 
hers.  Bring  her  with  thee  into  the  sacristy  and  attend 
without.  Go  !  " 

Father  Pedro  watched  the  disappearing  figure  of  the 
muleteer,  and  hurriedly  swept  his  thin,  dry  hand,  veined 
and  ribbed  like  a  brown  November  leaf,  over  his  stony 
forehead,  with  a  sound  that  seemed  almost  a  rustle.  Then 
he  suddenly  stiffened  his  fingers  over  his  breviary,  dropped 
his  arms  perpendicularly  before  him,  and  with  a  rigid  step 
returned  to  the  corridor  and  passed  into  the  sacristy. 

For  a  moment  in  the  half  darkness  the  room  seemed  to 
be  empty.  Tossed  carelessly  in  the  corner  appeared  some 
blankets  topped  by  a  few  straggling  black  horsetails,  like 
an  unstranded  riata.  A  trembling  agitated  the  mass  as 
Father  Pedro  approached.  He  bent  over  the  heap  and  dis- 
tinguished in  its  midst  the  glowing  black  eyes  of  Sanchicha, 
the  Indian  centenarian  of  the  Mission  San  Carmel.  Only 
her  eyes  lived.  Helpless,  boneless,  and  jelly-like,  old  age 
had  overtaken  her  with  a  mild  form  of  deliquescence. 

"  Listen,  Sanchicha,"  said  the  father  gravely.  "  It  is 
important  that  thou  shouldst  refresh  thy  memory  for  a  mo- 
ment. Look  back  fourteen  years,  mother ;  it  is  but  yes- 


416  AT   THE   MISSION   OF   SAN   CAKMEL 

terday  to  thee.  Thou  dost  remember  the  baby  —  a  little 
nmchacha  thou  broughtest  me  then  —  fourteen  years  ago  ?  " 

The  old  woman's  eyes  became  intelligent,  and  turned 
with  a  quick  look  towards  the  open  door  of  the  church, 
and  thence  towards  the  choir. 

The  padre  made  a  motion  of  irritation.  "  No,  no ! 
Thou  dost  not  understand ;  thou  dost  not  attend  me. 
Knowest  thou  of  any  mark  of  clothing,  trinket,  or  amulet 
found  upon  the  babe  ?  " 

The  light  of  the  old  woman's  eyes  went  out.  She  might 
have  been  dead.  Father  Pedro  waited  a  moment,  and  then 
laid  his  hand  impatiently  on  her  shoulder. 

"  Dost  thou  mean  there  are  none  ?  " 

A  ray  of  light  struggled  back  into  her  eyes. 

"  None." 

"  And  thou  hast  kept  back  or  put  away  no  sign  nor 
mark  of  her  parentage  ?  Tell  me,  on  this  crucifix." 

The  eyes  caught  the  crucifix,  and  became  as  empty  as 
the  orbits  of  the  carven  Christ  upon  it. 

Father  Pedro  waited  patiently.  A  moment  passed ; 
only  the  sound  of  the  muleteer's  spurs  was  heard  in  the 
courtyard. 

"It  is  well,"  he  said  at  last,  with  a  sigh  of  relief. 
"  Pepita  shall  give  thee  some  refreshment,  and  Jose  will 
bring  thee  back  again.  I  will  summon  him." 

He  passed  out  of  the  sacristy  door,  leaving  it  open.  A 
ray  of  sunlight  darted  eagerly  in,  and  fell  upon  the  gro- 
tesque heap  in  the  corner.  Sanchicha's  eyes  lived  again ; 
more  than  that,  a  singular  movement  came  over  her  face. 
The  hideous  caverns  of  her  toothless  mouth  opened  —  she 
laughed.  The  step  of  Jose  was  heard  in  the  corridor,  and 
she  became  again  inert. 

The  third  day,  which  should  have  brought  the  return  of 
Antonio,  was  nearly  spent.  Father  Pedro  was  impatient, 
but  not  alarmed.  The  good  fathers  at  San  Jose  might  natu- 


AT   THE    MISSION    OF   SAN   CAKMEL  417 

rally  detain  Antonio  for  the  answer,  which  might  require 
deliberation.  If  any  mischance  had  occurred  to  Francisco, 
Antonio  would  have  returned  or  sent  a  special  messenger. 
At  sunset  he  was  in  his  accustomed  seat  in  the  orchard, 
his  hands  clasped  over  the  breviary  in  his  listless  lap,  his 
eyes  fixed  upon  the  mountain  between  him  and  that  mys- 
terious sea  that  had  brought  so  much  into  his  life.  He 
was  filled  with  a  strange  desire  to  see  it,  a  vague  curiosity 
hitherto  unknown  to  his  preoccupied  life  ;  he  wished  to 
gaze  upon  that  strand,  perhaps  the  very  spot  where  she  had 
been  found ;  he  doubted  not  his  questioning  eyes  would 
discover  some  forgotten  trace  of  her ;  under  his  persistent 
will  and  aided  by  the  Holy  Virgin,  the  sea  would  give  up 
its  secret.  He  looked  at  the  fog  creeping  along  the  summit, 
and  recalled  the  latest  gossip  of  San  Carmel ;  how  that 
since  the  advent  of  the  Americanos  it  was  gradually  en- 
croaching on  the  Mission.  The  hated  name  vividly  recalled 
to  him  the  features  of  the  stranger  as  he  had  stood  before 
him  three  nights  ago,  in  this  very  garden,  —  so  vividly  that 
he  sprang  to  his  feet  with  an  exclamation.  It  was  no 
fancy,  but  Serior  Cranch  himself  advancing  from  under  the 
shadow  of  a  pear-tree. 

"  I  reckoned  I  'd  catch  you  here,"  said  Mr.  Cranch,  with 
the  same  dry,  practical  business  fashion,  as  if  he  were  only 
resuming  an  interrupted  conversation  ;  "  and  I  reckon  I  ain't 
going  to  keep  you  a  minit  longer  than  I  did  t'  other  day." 
He  mutely  referred  to  his  watch,  which  he  already  held  in 
his  hand,  and  then  put  it  back  in  his  pocket.  "  Well  !  we 
found  her !  " 

"Francisco?"  interrupted  the  priest  with  a  single  stride, 
laying  his  hand  upon  Cranch's  arm,  and  staring  into  his 
eyes. 

Mr.  Cranch  quietly  removed  Father  Pedro's  hand.  "  I 
reckon  that  was  n't  the  name  as  /  caught  it,"  he  returned 
dryly.  "  Had  n't  you  better  sit  down  ?  " 


418  AT  THE   MISSION   OF   SAN   CARMEL 

(t  Pardon  me  —  pardon  me,  senor,"  said  the  priest; 
hastily  sinking  back  upon  his  bench  ;  "  I  was  thinking  of 
other  things.  You  —  you  —  came  upon  me  suddenly.  I 
thought  it  was  the  acolyte.  Go  on,  senor  !  I  am  inter- 
ested." 

"  I  thought  you  'd  be,"  said  Cranch  quietly.  "  That 's 
why  I  came.  And  then  you  might  be  of  service  too." 

"  True,  true,"  said  the  priest,  with  rapid  accents  ;  "  and 
this  girl,  senor,  this  girl  is  "  — 

"  Juanita,  the  mestiza,  adopted  daughter  of  Don  Juan 
Briones,  over  on  the  Santa  Clare  Valley,"  replied  Cranch, 
jerking  his  thumb  over  his  shoulder,  and  then  sitting  down 
upon  the  bench  beside  Father  Pedro. 

The  priest  turned  his  feverish  eyes  piercingly  upon  his 
companion  for  a  few  seconds,  and  then  doggedly  fixed  them 
upon  the  ground.  Cranch  drew  a  plug  of  tobacco  from  his 
pocket,  cut  off  a  portion,  placed  it  in  his  cheek,  and  then 
quietly  began  to  strap  the  blade  of  his  jack-knife  upon  his 
boot.  Father  Pedro  saw  it  from  under  his  eyelids,  and 
even  in  his  preoccupation  despised  him. 

"Then  you  are  certain  she  is  th.e  babe  you  seek  ?  "  said 
the  father,  without  looking  up. 

"  I  reckon  as  near  as  you  can  be  certain  of  anything. 
Her  age  tallies ;  she  was  the  only  foundling  girl  baby  bap- 
tized by  you,  you  know,"  —  he  partly  turned  round  appeal- 
ingly  to  the  padre,  —  "  that  year.  In  Jin  woman  says  she 
picked  up  a  baby.  Looks  like  a  pretty  clear  case,  don't 
it?" 

"  And  the  clothes,  friend  Cranch  ? "  said  the  priest, 
with  his  eyes  still  on  the  ground,  and  a  slight  assumption 
of  easy  indifference. 

"  They  will  be  forthcoming,  like  enough,  when  the  time 
comes,"  said  Cranch.  "  The  main  thing  at  first  was  to  find 
the  girl  —  that  was  my  job.  The  lawyers,  I  reckon,  can  fit 
the  proofs  and  say  what 's  wanted,  later  on." 


AT   THE   MISSION   OF   SAN   CARMEL  419 

"  But  why  lawyers,"  continued  Padre  Pedro,  with  a 
slight  sneer  he  could  not  repress,  "  if  the  child  is  found  and 
Senor  Craneh  is  satisfied  ?  " 

"  On  account  of  the  property.      Business  is  business !  " 

"  The  property  ?  " 

Mr.  Craneh  pressed  the  back  of  his  knife-blade  on  his 
boot,  shut  it  up  with  a  click,  and  putting  it  in  his  pocket 
said  calmly,  — 

"  Well,  I  reckon  the  million  of  dollars  that  her  father 
left  when  he  died,  which  naturally  belongs  to  her,  will  re- 
quire some  proof  that  she  is  his  daughter." 

He  had  placed  both  his  hands  in  his  pockets,  ami 
turned  his  eyes  full  upon  Father  Pedro.  The  priest  arose 
hurriedly. 

"  But  you  said  nothing  of  this  before,  Senor  Craneh," 
said  he,  with  a  gesture  of  indignation,  turning  his  back 
quite  upon  Craneh,  and  taking  a  step  towards  the  re- 
fectory. 

"  Why  should  I  ?  I  was  looking  after  the  girl,  not  the 
property,"  returned  Craneh,  following  the  padre  with 
watchful  eyes,  but  still  keeping  his  careless,  easy  attitude. 

"  Ah,  well !  Will  it  be  said  so,  think  you  ?  Eh !  Bueno. 
What  will  the  world  think  of  your  sacred  quest,  eh  ? " 
continued  the  Padre  Pedro,  forgetting  himself  in  his  excite- 
ment, but  still  averting  his  face  from  his  companion. 

"  The  world  will  look  after  the  proofs,  and  I  reckon  not 
bother  if  the  proofs  are  all  right,"  replied  Craneh  care- 
lessly ;  "  and  the  girl  won't  think  the  worse  for  me  for 
helping  her  to  a  fortune.  Hallo  !  you  've  dropped  some- 
thing." He  leaped  to  his  feet,  picked  up  the  breviary 
which  had  fallen  from  the  padre's  fingers,  and  returned  it 
to  him  with  a  slight  touch  of  gentleness  that  was  unsus- 
pected in  the  man. 

The  priest's  dry,  tremulous  hand  grasped  the  volume 
without  acknowledgment. 


420  AT  THE   MISSION   OF   SAN   CARMEL 

"  But  these  proofs  ?  "  he  said  hastily  ;  "  these  proof s, 
senor  ?  " 

"  Oh,  well,  you  '11  testify  to  the  baptism,  you  know." 

"  But  if  I  refuse  ;  if  I  will  have  nothing  to  do  with  this 
thing !  If  I  will  not  give  my  word  that  there  is  not  some 
mistake,"  said  the  priest,  working  himself  into  a  feverish 
indignation  ;  "  that  there  are  not  slips  of  memory,  eh  ? 
Of  so  many  children  baptized,  is  it  possible  for  me  to 
know  which,  eh  ?  And  if  this  Juanita  is  not  your  girl, 
eh?" 

"  Then  you  '11  help  me  to  find  who  is,"  said  Cranch. 
coolly. 

Father  Pedro  turned  furiously  on  his  tormentor.  Over- 
come by  his  vigil  and  anxiety,  he  was  oblivious  of  every- 
thing but  the  presence  of  the  man  who  seemed  to  usurp 
the  functions  of  his  own  conscience.  "  Who  are  you,  who 
speak  thus  ? "  he  said  hoarsely,  advancing  upon  Cranch 
with  outstretched  and  anathematizing  fingers.  "  Who  are 
you,  Senor  Heathen,  who  dare  to  dictate  to  me,  a  father 
of  Holy  Church  ?  I  tell  you,  I  will  have  none  of  this. 
Never  !  I  will  not !  From  this  moment,  you  understand 
—  nothing.  I  will  never  "  — 

He  stopped.  The  first  stroke  of  the  Angelus  rang  from 
the  little  tower.  The  first  stroke  of  that  bell  before  whose 
magic  exorcism  all  human  passions  fled,  the  peaceful  bell 
that  had  for  fifty  years  lulled  the  little  fold  of  San  Carmel 
to  prayer  and  rest,  came  to  his  throbbing  ear.  His  trem- 
bling hands  groped  for  the  crucifix,  carried  it  to  his  left 
breast ;  his  lips  moved  in  prayer.  His  eyes  were  turned 
to  the  cold,  passionless  sky,  where  a  few  faint,  far-spaced 
stars  had  silently  stolen  to  their  places.  The  Angelus 
still  rang,  his  trembling  ceased,  he  remained  motionless 
and  rigid. 

The  American,  who  had  uncovered  in  deference  to  the 
worshiper  rather  than  the  rite,  waited  patiently.  The 


AT   THE   MISSION   OF   SAN   CARMEL  421 

eyes  of  Father  Pedro  returned  to  the  earth,  moist  as  if 
with  dew  caught  from  above.  He  looked  half  absently  at 
Cranch. 

"  Forgive  me,  my  son,"  he  said,  in  a  changed  voice. 
"I  am  only  a  worn  old  man.  I  must  talk  with  thee  more 
of  this  —  but  not  to-night  —  not  to-night ;  —  to-morrow  — 
to-morrow  —  to-morrow." 

He  turned  slowly,  and  appeared  to  glide  rather  than 
move  under  the  trees,  until  the  dark  shadow  of  the  Mis- 
sion tower  met  and  encompassed  him.  .  Cranch  followed 
him  with  anxious  eyes.  Then  he  removed  the  quid  of 
tobacco  from  his  cheek. 

"  Just  as  I  reckoned,"  remarked  he  quite  audibly. 
"  He 's  clean  gold  on  the  bed  rock  after  all !  " 


IV 

That  night  Father  Pedro  dreamed  a  strange  dream. 
How  much  of  it  was  reality,  how  long  it  lasted,  or  when 
he  awoke  from  it,  he  could  not  tell.  The  morbid  ex- 
citement of  the  previous  day  culminated  in  a  febrile  exal- 
tation, in  which  he  lived  and  moved  as  in  a  separate  existence. 

This  is  what  he  remembered.  He  thought  he  had  risen 
at  night  in  a  sudden  horror  of  remorse,  and  making  his 
way  to  the  darkened  church  had  fallen  upon  his  knees  be- 
fore the  high  altar,  when  all  at  once  the  acolyte's  voice 
broke  from  the  choir,  but  in  accents  so  dissonant  and  un- 
natural that  it  seemed  a  sacrilege,  and  he  trembled.  He 
thought  he  had  confessed  the  secret  of  the  child's  sex  to 
Cranch,  but  whether  the  next  morning  or  a  week  later 
he  did  not  know.  He  fancied,  too,  that  Cranch  had  also 
confessed  some  trifling  deception  to  him,  but  what,  or  why, 
he  could  not  remember  —  so  much  greater  seemed  the 
enormity  of  his  own  transgression.  He  thought  Cranch 


422  AT  THE   MISSION   OF   SAN   CARMEL 

had  put  in  his  hands  the  letter  he  had  written  to  the  Fa- 
ther Superior,  saying  that  his  secret  was  still  safe,  and 
that  he  had  been  spared  the  avowal  and  the  scandal  that 
might  have  ensued.  But  through  all,  and  above  all,  he 
was  conscious  of  one  fixed  idea :  to  seek  the  seashore  with 
Sanchicha,  and  upon  the  spot  where  she  had  found  Fran- 
cisco, meet  the  young  girl  who  had  taken  his  place,  and  so 
part  from  her  forever.  He  had  a  dim  recollection  that  this 
was  necessary  to  some  legal  identification  of  her,  as  arranged 
by  Cranch,  but  how  or  why  he  did  not  understand ;  enough 
that  it  was  a  part  of  his  penance. 

It  was  early  morning  when  the  faithful  Antonio,  accom- 
panied by  Sanchicha  and  Jose,  rode  forth  with  him  from 
the  Mission  of  San  Carmel.  Except  on  the  expressionless 
features  of  the  old  woman,  there  was  anxiety  and  gloom 
upon  the  faces  of  the  little  cavalcade.  He  did  not  know 
how  heavily  his  strange  abstraction  and  hallucinations 
weighed  upon  their  honest  hearts.  As  they  wound  up  the 
ascent  of  the  mountain  he  noticed  that  Antonio  and  Jose" 
conversed  with  bated  breath  and  many  pious  crossings  of 
themselves,  but  with  eyes  always  wistfully  fixed  upon  him. 
He  wondered  if,  as  part  of  his  penance,  he  ought  not  to 
proclaim  his  sin  and  abase  himself  before  them  ;  but  he 
knew  that  his  devoted  followers  would  insist  upon  sharing 
his  punishment ;  and  he  remembered  his  promise  to  Cranch, 
that  for  her  sake  he  would  say  nothing.  Before  they 
reached  the  summit  he  turned  once  or  twice  to  look  back 
upon  the  Mission.  How  small  it  looked,  lying  there  in  the 
peaceful  valley,  contrasted  with  the  broad  sweep  of  the 
landscape  beyond,  stopped  at  the  farther  east  only  by  the 
dim,  ghost-like  outlines  of  the  Sierras.  But  the  strong 
breath  of  the  sea  was  beginning  to  be  felt ;  in  a  few  mo- 
ments more  they  were  facing  it  with  lowered  sombreros 
and  flying  serapes,  and  the  vast,  glittering,  illimitable 
Pacific  opened  out  beneath  them. 


AT   THE   MISSION   OF   SAN   CARMEL  423 

Dazed  and  blinded,  as  it  seemed  to  him,  by  the  shining, 
restless  expanse,  Father  Pedro  rode  forward  as  if  still  in  a 
dream.  Suddenly  he  halted,  and  called  Antonio  to  his  side. 

"  Tell  me,  child,  didst  thou  say  that  this  coast  was  wild 
and  desolate  of  man,  beast,  and  habitation  ?  " 

"  Truly  I  did,  reverend  father." 

"  Then  what  is  that  ?  "  pointing  to  the  shore. 

Almost  at  their  feet  nestled  a  cluster  of  houses,  at  the 
head  of  an  arroyo  reaching  up  from  the  beach.  They  looked 
down  upon  the  smoke  of  a  manufactory  chimney,  upon 
strange  heaps  of  material  and  curious  engines  scattered  along 
the  sands,  with  here  and  there  moving  specks  of  human 
figures.  In  a  little  bay  a  schooner  swung  at  her  cables. 

The  vaquero  crossed  himself  in  stupefied  alarm.  "I 
know  not,  your  reverence ;  it  is  only  two  years  ago,  before 
the  rodeo,  that  I  was  here  for  strayed  colts,  and  I  swear  by 
the  blessed  bones  of  San  Antonio  that  it  was  as  I  said." 

"  Ah  !  it  is  like  these  Americanos,"  responded  the  mule- 
teer. "I  have  it  from  my  brother  Diego  that  he  went 
from  San  Jose  to  Pescadero  two  months  ago  across  the  plains, 
with  never  a  hut  nor  fonda  to  halt  at  all  the  way.  He  re- 
turned in  seven  days,  and  in  the  midst  of  the  plain  there 
were  three  houses  and  a  mill  and  many  people.  And  why 
was  it  ?  Ah  !  Mother  of  God  !  one  had  picked  up  in  the 
creek  where  he  drank  that  much  of  gold  ;  "  and  the  mule- 
teer tapped  one  of  the  silver  coins  that  fringed  his  jacket 
sleeves  in  place  of  buttons. 

"  And  they  are  washing  the  sands  for  gold  there  now," 
said  Antonio,  eagerly  pointing  to  some  men  gathered  round 
a  machine  like  an  enormous  cradle.  "  Let  us  hasten  on." 

Father  Pedro's  momentary  interest  had  passed.  The 
words  of  his  companions  fell  dull  and  meaningless  upon  his 
dreaming  ears.  He  was  conscious  only  that  the  child  was 
more  a  stranger  to  him  as  an  outcome  of  this  hard,  bustling 
life,  than  when  he  believed  her  borne  to  him  over  the  mys- 


424  AT   THE    MISSION   OF   SAN   CARMEL 

terious  sea.  It  perplexed  his  dazed,  disturbed  mind  to 
think  that  if  such  an  antagonistic  element  could  exist  within 
a  dozen  miles  of  the  Mission,  and  he  not  know  it,  could  not 
such  an  atmosphere  have  been  around  him,  even  in  his  mo- 
nastic isolation,  and  he  remain  blind  to  it  ?  Had  he  really 
lived  in  the  world  without  knowing  it  ?  Had  it  been  in 
his  blood  ?  Had  it  impelled  him  to  —  He  shuddered,  and 
rode  on. 

They  were  at  the  last  slope  of  the  zigzag  descent  to  the 
shore,  when  he  saw  the  figures  of  a  man  and  woman  moving 
slowly  through  a  field  of  wild  oats,  not  far  from  the  trail. 
It  seemed  to  his  distorted  fancy  that  the  man  was  Cranch. 
The  \voman  !  His  heart  stopped  beating.  Ah  !  could  it  be  ? 
He  had  never  seen  her  in  her  proper  garb :  would  she  look 
like  that  ?  would  she  be  as  tall  ?  He  thought  he  bade  Jose7 
and  Antonio  go  on  slowly  before  with  Sanchicha,  and  dis- 
mounted, walking  slowly  between  the  high  stalks  of  grain 
lest  he  should  disturb  them.  They  evidently  did  not  hear 
his  approach,  but  were  talking  earnestly.  It  seemed  to  Fa- 
ther Pedro  that  they  had  taken  each  other's  hands,  and  as 
he  looked  Cranch  slipped  his  arm  round  her  waist.  With 
only  a  blind  instinct  of  some  dreadful  sacrilege  in  this  act, 
Father  Pedro  would  have  rushed  forward,  when  the  girl's 
voice  struck  his  ear.  He  stopped,  breathless.  It  was  not 
Francisco,  but  Juanita,  the  little  mestiza. 

"  But  are  you  sure  you  are  not  pretending  to  love  me 
now,  as  you  pretended  to  think  I  was  the  muchacha  you  had 
run  away  with  and  lost  ?  Are  you  sure  it  is  not  pity  for 
the  deceit  you  practiced  upon  me  —  upon  Don  Juan  —  upon 
poor  Father  Pedro  ?  " 

It  seemed  as  if  Cranch  had  tried  to  answer  with  a  kiss, 
for  the  girl  drew  suddenly  away  from  him  with  a  coquettish 
fling  of  the  black  braids,  and  whipped  her  little  brown  hands 
behind  her. 

"  Well,  look    here,"  said  Cranch,  with  the  same  easy 


AT   THE   MISSION  OF  SAN  CARMEL  425 

good-natured,  practical  directness  which  the  priest  remem- 
bered, and  which  would  have  passed  for  philosophy  in  a 
more  thoughtful  man ;  "  put  it  squarely,  then.  In  the  first 
place,  it  was  Don  Juan  and  the  alcalde  who  first  suggested 
you  might  be  the  child." 

"  But  you  have  said  you  knew  it  was  Francisco  all  the 
time,"  interrupted  Juanita. 

"  I  did  ;  but  when  I  found  the  priest  would  not  assist 
me  at  first,  and  admit  that  the  acolyte  was  a  girl,  I  pre- 
ferred to  let  him  think  I  was  deceived  in  giving  a  fortune 
to  another,  and  leave  it  to  his  own  conscience  to  permit  it  or 
frustrate  it.  I  was  right.  I  reckon  it  was  pretty  hard  on 
the  old  man,  at  his  time  of  life,  and  wrapped  up  as  he  was 
in  the  girl ;  but  at  the  moment  he  came  up  to  the  scratch 
like  a  man." 

"  And  to  save  him  you  have  deceived  me  ?  Thank  you, 
senor,"  said  the  girl  with  a  mock  curtsey. 

"  I  reckon  I  preferred  to  have  you  for  a  wife  than  a 
daughter,"  said  Cranch,  "  if  that 's  what  you  mean.  When 
you  know  me  better,  Juanita,"  he  continued  gravely,  "  you  '11 
know  that  I  would  never  have  let  you  believe  I  sought  in 
you  the  one  if  I  had  not  hoped  to  find  in  you  the  other." 

"  Bueno  !     And  when  did  you  have  that  pretty  hope  ?  " 

"  When  I  first  saw  you." 

"  And  that  was  —  two  weeks  ago." 

"  A  year  ago,  Juanita.  When  Francisco  visited  you  at 
the  rancho.  I  followed  and  saw  you." 

Juanita  looked  at  him  a  moment,  and  then  suddenly 
darted  at  him,  caught  him  by  the  lapels  of  his  coat  and 
shook  him  like  a  terrier. 

"  Are  you  sure  that  you  did  not  love  that  Francisco  ? 
Speak  !  "  (She  shook  him  again.)  "  Swear  that  you  did 
not  follow  her !  " 

"  But  —  I  did,"  said  Cranch,  laughing  and  shaking  be- 
tween the  clenching  of  the  little  hands.  - 


426  AT  THE   MISSION   OF   SAN   CARMEL 

"  Judas  Iscariot !  Swear  you  do  not  love  her  all  this 
while." 

"  But,  Juanita  !  " 

"Swear!" 

Cranch  swore.  Then  to  Father  Pedro's  intense  aston- 
ishment she  drew  the  American's  face  towards  her  own  by 
the  ears  and  kissed  him. 

"  But  you  might  have  loved  her,  and  married  a  fortune," 
said  Juanita,  after  a  pause. 

"  Where  would  have_  been  my  reparation  —  my  duty  ?  " 
returned  Cranch,  with  a  laugh. 

"  Reparation  enough  for  her  to  have  had  you,"  said 
Juanita,  with  that  rapid  disloyalty  of  one  loving  woman  to 
another  in  an  emergency.  This  provoked  another  kiss  from 
Cranch,  and  then  Juanita  said  demurely,  — 

"  But  we  are  far  from  the  trail.  Let  us  return,  or  we 
shall  miss  Father  Pedro.  Are  you  sure  he  will  come  ?  " 

"  A  week  ago  he  promised  to  be  here  to  see  the  proofs 
to-day." 

The  voices  were  growing  fainter  and  fainter  ;  they  were 
returning  to  the  trail. 

Father  Pedro  remained  motionless.  A  week  ago  !  Was 
it  a  week  ago  since  —  since  what  ?  And  what  had  he  been 
doing  here  ?  Listening  !  He  !  Father  Pedro,  listening 
like  an  idle  peon  to  the  confidences  of  two  lovers.  But 
they  had  talked  of  him,  of  his  crime  —  and  the  man  had 
pitied  him  !  Why  did  he  not  speak  ?  Why  did  he  not 
call  after  them  ?  He  tried  to  raise  his  voice.  It  sank  in 
his  throat  with  a  horrible  choking  sensation.  The  nearest 
heads  of  oats  began  to  nod  to  him,  he  felt  himself  swaying 
backward  and  forward.  He  fell  —  heavily,  down,  down, 
down,  from  the  summit  of  the  mountain  to  the  floor  of  the 
Mission  chapel,  and  there  he  lay  in  the  dark. 

"He  moves." 


AT   THE   MISSION    OF   SAN   CUfiMEL  427 

"  Blessed  Saint  Anthony  preserve  him  !  " 

It  was  Antonio's  voice,  it  was  Jose's  arm,  it  was  the 
field  of  wild  oats,  the  sky  ahove  his  head,  —  all  unchanged. 

"  What  has  happened  ?  "  said  the  priest  feebly. 

"A  giddiness  seized  your  reverence  just  now,  as  we 
were  coming  to  seek  you." 

"  And  you  met  no  one  ?  " 

"  No  one,  your  reverence." 

Father  Pedro  passed  his  hand  across  his  forehead. 

"  But  who  are  these  ?  "  he  said,  pointing  to  two  figures 
who  now  appeared  upon  the  trail. 

Antonio  turned. 

"  It  is  the  Americano,  Seiior  Cranch,  and  his  adopted 
daughter,  the  mestiza  Juanita,  seeking  your  reverence,  me- 
thinks." 

"  Ah  !  "  said  Father  Pedro. 

Cranch  came  forward  and  greeted  the  priest  cordially. 

"  It  was  kind  of  you,  Father  Pedro,"  he  said  meaningly, 
with  a  significant  glance  at  Jose  and  Antonio,  "  to  come  so 
far  to  bid  me  and  my  adopted  daughter  farewell.  We  de- 
part when  the  tide  serves,  but  not  before  you  partake  of  our 
hospitality  in  yonder  cottage." 

Father  Pedro  gazed  at  Cranch  and  then  at  Juanita. 

"  I  see,"  he  stammered.  "  But  she  goes  not  alone.  She 
will  be  strange  at  first.  She  takes  some  friend,  perhaps  — 
some  companion  ?  "  he  continued  tremulously. 

"  A  very  old  and  dear  one,  Father  Pedro,  who  is  waiting 
for  us  now." 

He  led  the  way  to  a  little  white  cottage,  so  little  and 
white  and  recent,  that  it  seemed  a  mere  fleck  of  sea-foam 
cast  on  the  sands.  Disposing  of  Jose  and  Antonio  in  the 
neighboring  workshop  and  outbuildings,  he  assisted  the 
venerable  Sanchicha  to  dismount,  and,  together  with  Fa- 
ther Pedro  and  Juanita,  entered  a  white  palisaded  inclo- 
sure  beside  the  cottage,  and  halted  before  what  appeared  to 


428  AT   THE   MISSION   OF   SAN   C  ARM  EL 

be  a  large  folding  trap-door,  covering  a  slight  sandy  mound, 
It  was  locked  with  a  padlock  ;  heside  it  stood  the  American 
alcalde  and  Don  Juan  Briones.  Father  Pedro  looked  hastily 
around  for  another  figure,  but  it  was  not  there. 

"  Gentlemen,"  began  Cranch,  in  his  practical  business 
way,  "  I  reckon  you  all  know  we  've  come  here  to  identify 
a  young  lady,  who  "  —  he  hesitated  —  "  was  lately  under 
the  care  of  Father  Pedro,  with  a  foundling  picked  up  on 
this  shore  fifteen  years  ago  by  an  Indian  woman.  How 
this  foundling  came  here,  and  how  I  was  concerned  in  it, 
you  all  know.  I  've  told  everybody  here  how  I  scrambled 
ashore,  leaving  the  baby  in  the  dingy,  supposing  it  would 
be  picked  up  by  the  boat  pursuing  me.  I  've  told  some 
of  you,"  he  looked  at  Father  Pedro,  "  how  I  first  discov- 
ered from  one  of  the  men,  three  years  ago,  that  the  child 
was  not  found  by  its  father.  But  I  have  never  told  any 
one,  before  now,  I  knew  it  was  picked  up  here. 

"  I  never  could  tell  the  exact  locality  where  I  came 
ashore,  for  the  fog  was  coming  on  as  it  is  now.  But  two 
years  ago  I  came  up  with  a  party  of  gold-hunters  to  work 
these  sands.  One  day,  digging  near  this  creek,  I  struck 
something  embedded  deep  below  the  surface.  Well,  gen- 
tlemen, it  wasn't  gold,  but  something  worth  more  to  me 
than  gold  or  silver.  Here  it  is." 

At  a  sign  the  alcalde  unlocked  the  doors  and  threw  them 
open.  They  disclosed  an  irregular  trench,  in  which,  filled 
with  sand,  lay  the  half-excavated  stern  of  a  boat. 

"  It  was  the  dingy  of  the  Trinidad,  gentlemen  ;  you  can 
still  read  her  name.  I  found  hidden  away,  tucked  under 
the  stern-sheets,  moxildy  and  water-worn,  some  clothes  that 
I  recognized  to  be  the  baby's.  I  knew  then  that  the  child 
had  been  taken  away  alive  for  some  purpose,  and  the  clothes 
were  left  so  that  she  should  carry  no  trace  with  her.  I 
recognized  the  hand  of  an  Indian.  I  set  to  work  quietly. 
I  found  Sanchicha  here;  she  confessed  to  finding  a  baby, 


VA   USTED   CON  DIGS 


AT   THE    MISSION   OF   SAN   CARMEL  429 

but  what  she  had  done  with  it  she  would  not  at  first  say. 
But  since  then  she  has  declared  before  the  alcalde  that  she 
gave  it  to  Father  Pedro  of  San  Carmel,  and  that  here  it 
stands  —  Francisco  that  was  !  —  Francisca  that  is  !  " 

He  stepped  aside  to  make  way  for  a  tall  girl,  who  had 
approached  from  the  cottage. 

Father  Pedro  had  neither  noticed  tie  concluding  words 
nor  the  movement  of  Cranch.  His  eyes  were  fixed  upon 
the  imbecile  Sanchicha,  —  Sanchicha,  of  whom,  to  render 
his  rebuke  more  complete,  the  Deity  seemed  to  have  worked 
a  miracle,  and  restored  intelligence  to  eye  and  lip.  He 
passed  his  hand  tremblingly  across  his  forehead,  and  turned 
away,  when  his  eye  fell  upon  the  last  comer. 

It  was  she.  The  moment  he  had  longed  for  and  dreaded 
had  come.  She  stood  there,  animated,  handsome,  filled 
with  a  hurtful  consciousness  in  her  new  charms,  her  fresh 
finery,  and  the  pitiable  trinkets  that  had  supplanted  her 
scapulary,  and  which  played  under  her  foolish  fingers.  The 
past  had  no  place  in  her  preoccupied  mind ;  her  bright  eyes 
were  full  of  eager  anticipation  of  a  substantial  future.  The 
incarnation  of  a  frivolous  world,  even  as  she  extended  one 
hand  to  him  in  half-coquettish  embarrassment  she  arranged 
the  folds  of  her  dress  with  the  other.  At  the  touch  of  her 
fingers  he  felt  himself  growing  old  and  cold.  Even  the 
penance  of  parting,  which  he  had  looked  forward  to,  was 
denied  him ;  there  was  no  longer  sympathy  enough  for  sor- 
row. He  thought  of  the  empty  chorister's  robe  in  the  little 
cell,  but  not  now  with  regret.  He  only  trembled  to  think 
of  the  flesh  that  he  had  once  caused  to  inhabit  it. 

"  That 's  all,  gentlemen,"  broke  in  the  practical  voice  of 
Cranch.  "  Whether  there  are  proofs  enough  to  make  Fran- 
cisca the  heiress  of  her  father's  wealth,  the  lawyers  must 
say.  I  reckon  it 's  enough  for  me  that  they  give  me  the 
chance  of  repairing  a  wrong  by  taking  her  father's  place. 
After  all,  it  was  a  mere  chance." 


430  AT  THE   MISSION   OF   SAN   CARMEL 

"  It  was  the  will  of  God,"  said  Father  Pedro  solemnly. 

They  were  the  last  words  he  addressed  them.  For  when 
the  fog  had  begun  to  creep  in-shore,  hastening  their  depar- 
ture, he  only  answered  their  farewells  by  a  silent  pressure  of 
the  hand,  mute  lips,  and  far-off  eyes. 

When  the  sound  of  their  laboring  oars  grew  fainter,  he 
told  Antonio  to  lead  him  and  Sanchicha  again  to  the  buried 
boat.  There  he  bade  her  kneel  beside  him.  "  We  will  do 
penance  here,  thou  and  I,  daughter,"  he  said  gravely. 
When  the  fog  had  drawn  its  curtain  gently  around  the 
strange  pair,  and  sea  and  shore  were  blotted  out,  he  whis- 
pered, "  Tell  me,  it  was  even  so,  was  it  not,  daughter,  on 
the  night  she  came  ?  "  When  the  distant  clatter  of  blocks 
and  rattle  of  cordage  came  from  the  unseen  vessel,  now 
standing  out  to  sea,  he  whispered  again,  u  So,  this  is  what 
thou  didst  hear,  even  then."  And  so  during  the  night  he 
marked,  more  or  less  audibly  to  the  half-conscious  woman 
at  his  side,  the  low  whisper  of  the  waves,  the  murmur  of 
the  far-off  breakers,  the  lightening  and  thickening  of  the 
fog,  the  phantoms  of  moving  shapes,  and  the  slow  coming 
of  the  dawn.  And  when  the  morning  sun  had  rent  the 
veil  over  land  and  sea,  Antonio  and  Jose  found  him,  hag- 
gard but  erect,  beside  the  trembling  old  woman,  with  a 
blessing  on  his  lips,  pointing  to  the  horizon  where  a  single 
sail  still  glimmered :  — 

"  V»  listed  con  Dios." 


UC  SOUTHERN  REGIONAL  LIBRARY  FACILITY 


A     000  752  388     9 


